Refracted
by fleeterberry
Summary: AU set after The Crossing. Joss and John may have given up, but sometimes fate has another idea. Careese
1. Chapter 1 Part 1

Refracted  
fleeterberry  
Set after The Crossing; AU  
Consider this work hereby disclaimed.

Chapter One  
Part One

It was always the tears that woke her. Of all the horrors that tortured her day and night, and there were so very many vying for her attention whether she was awake or asleep, rather than the memories of Afghanistan and Iraq or the equally terrible sights she'd seen as an NYPD detective, the worst of the nightmares were the tears.

His tears.

The man who'd tried so desperately to convince everyone that he was an unfeeling robot, failing entirely with her all along, had revealed how completely human he'd been. He'd already told her something she'd suspected for a long time, admitted to her that she'd saved him, and yet, it had still shocked her in that moment to see the tears on his face as he tried to make it ok. Seeing the devastation on his face at the thought of losing her would have been a miserable way to die, to have his crushed, heartbroken eyes wet with tears be the last thing she ever saw.

As bad as that would have been though, it was worse to live through it.

And this night, the same as every other night since, she saw it all again, felt the unimaginable pain he suffered as sharply as she felt the bullet in her chest, and, like all the other nights, she woke up with a sound halfway between a scream and a sob ripping from her throat. She sat straight up, the memory so vivid that she forced her grip loose on the sheets to clutch at her chest, fully expecting to find blood saturating her shirt. When the only moisture she found was sweat, her eyes would dart around in the darkness, searching fruitlessly for John. She wanted the comfort of John's intense gaze, warm and steady and full of unspoken emotion.

But it was never there. He was never there. His face was frozen in her memory the way she'd seen it last. Aching. Broken. Utterly destroyed.

Long after her breathing calmed, long after her tears dried, long after she told herself it had simply been another nightmare, she'd sit on her bed with her hand over her heart silently enduring the excruciating pain that Simmons' bullet hadn't caused. In the intervening time, she'd tried everything. A hot bath, warm milk, a cold shower, a hard workout, staying up late, going to bed early, even quiet meditation. No matter what she did, her nights always went the same way.

Then she would splash water on her face, make her morning coffee at 3AM, and spend a few hours boring herself into distraction with a home shopping show. And in those quiet hours, she'd remind herself of the truth. As much as that night hurt her, it hurt him worse.

She'd been the only reason he'd survived losing Jessica and she wasn't sure he'd be able to survive losing her.

Every Monday was the same damn thing. Drive to the office, unable to vent any of her frustration on other drivers simply because there wasn't enough traffic in Bumblefuck PA, swipe her ID badge through the time clock a minute or two before her appointed eight o'clock shift, drop her purse in her bottom desk drawer, and boot up her computer to find a shitload of "urgent" emails she didn't give two fucks about. As with every week day, her office mate would show up one or two minutes past her appointed shift at 8:30, collapse into the chair across the small room, and dramatically announce that there had to be something wrong with the clock because she'd left home in plenty of time to not be late. The routine was so ingrained that she paid the other woman no attention. It wasn't personal. She held no grudge against her coworker. The simple fact was that if she paid enough attention to respond to the closest thing she could call a friend anymore, she'd be really fucking pissed about the direction her life had taken.

She'd joined the army. She'd gone to law school and passed the bar on her first try. She'd been a cop. She'd singlehandedly, well mostly, taken down the most well-organized and highly connected organized crime syndicate New York City had ever seen. Hell, she'd apparently even given an emotionally absent assassin a heart, a conscience, and a reason to live. It was one hell of a resume.

And fuck if she wasn't stuck spending her days as an office worker, mindlessly processing fucking car insurance claims and listening to irrational people bitch that they deserved more money since that pole came out of nowhere to dent their bumper.

Jennifer spun around in her chair to offer her a paper cup, while upturning her own cup at her lips. "I don't know how you face the day with that decaffeinated shit."

She eyed her tea with a fake smile. No, she wasn't a fan of what, to her, was brown water, but after so many cups of coffee shared with John, it seemed wrong to share one with anyone else. The only coffee she drank anymore was in the middle of the night, when the memory of John was so fresh in her mind it was almost like he was there. Almost.

 _~  
_ _the middle of the night_

 _tired, yawning, still twitching with adrenaline_

 _the stale air of a diner_

 _the perpetually sticky booth_

 _waitress asking what they wanted_

 _they just wanted to be together_

 _their eyes locked with the unspoken truth_

 _her gaze drifted down to the still spreading blood stain marring his white shirt_

 _he adjusted his blazer to hide it_

 _looks worse than it is, his eyes assured her_

 _two coffees, she requested_

 _how did they take them_

 _had to be the first diner she'd ever seen without a sugar jar on the table_

 _cream, she answered, a smile coming to her face as she met his gaze, no sugar_

 _twinkling eyes didn't blink_

 _black and sweet, he said_

 _alone again_

 _still grinning_

 _I'm not sweet, she protested_

 _I was talking about the coffee_

 _then a wink_

 _the hell he was  
_

She thought of the four cups she'd had in her living room that morning, every single one of them reminding her of him, making her wonder if he could still enjoy a damn coffee without thinking of her. Knowing he'd drink it if only to torture himself with the pain of losing her, of not being able to save her, of thinking he was alone again.

"Hello!"

She gave a start at the loud voice, smiling weakly at Jennifer. "Caffeine makes me jumpy."

Jennifer shook her head. "Jumpier than you already are?"

Witness Protection did that to a person, she wanted to say. Instead, she nodded with another fake smile. "Exactly why I don't drink it."

As though to confirm, a sudden knock at their door nearly scared her out of her seat, leaving her clutching at her pounding heart. It was just another coworker dropping by to greet them and tease Jennifer with a morsel of gossip about the boss. For the most part, people there were polite to her and ignored the way she seemed to panic at the slightest sound. Jennifer was too outspoken to let it slide. There'd been no other choice than to call on her undercover skills, crafting a story about an abusive ex that had a history of tracking her down.

Her backstory was up to her, they'd said. Something about it being easier to remember if she made it up on her own. They gave her a job and a car and a place to live and pretty much no assurance she'd even live to see the trial, if there ever was one. It was just as well. She wouldn't have believed them anyway. If anyone ever got wind of the idea that she hadn't died on the sidewalk that night, she'd be dead all the same. The transition from having a hyper-vigilant ex-CIA assassin and his omnipotent boss watching over her to a disinterested government drone, well, it would make anyone jumpy.

She would have taken her chances with John, especially after what he'd revealed to her that night, but the damn feds had played hardball, bringing up Taylor, and not in a heartfelt vow to protect him. In fact, they'd been downright cruel, informing her that both she and her son would be safer apart, that her death would appear legitimate only if the boy didn't simultaneously disappear. They'd argued that he was nearly grown, that disrupting his life was unnecessary, that she'd be back before she knew it.

Talk about tearing the beating heart out of her chest. Might as well have killed her themselves.

And really, none of it had even been up to her. She'd closed her eyes for what she truly expected to be the last time with the warmth of John's body cradling her. By the time she'd awoken, Joss Carter was dead. Had been dead for a week. She was in a hospital in Ohio, using an assumed name, three assumed names later. It was the only way to keep her alive, they'd said. And they needed her alive, in case other members of HR appeared and they needed her to connect the dots.

They'd failed to mention that she'd feel dead anyway. She had nothing. No friends, no family, no past, no future. She couldn't even answer a basic question without running through a mental checklist as to the "right" answer. The resulting exhaustion had the outward appearance of utter stupidity and left her preparing to spend her time alone. Alone and ruminating on the cost of her actions.

Her own pain was bad enough.

Knowing her son was suffering the loss of his mother instead of celebrating the resurfacing of his father was enough to kill her when she let herself think about it. She told herself that Taylor was a smart, strong, wonderful boy, damn a man almost, who'd been raised right and he'd be ok. Maybe not happy about what had happened, but he'd survive. He'd recover. He'd be happy someday.

But John - oh god the thought hit her like a knife every time - she couldn't be sure he hadn't, wouldn't, take his own life over it. She'd been what had stopped him before, he's told her as much. After failing at his self-appointed task of protecting her, she knew there was likely nothing that would stop him this time. If she went through all of this, only to return home, whenever that might be, and lose him all over again - it would change the answer to the question as to if it was worth it. She needed to know the future to make any decisions in the present.

It wasn't like she could look him up on Facebook. Not that she wasn't tempted. She didn't expect she'd find him, but it seemed like the sort of thing that might get Finch's attention. Maybe she could google John Reese and Harold Finch. Someone would be at her door in an hour, she was sure.

She thought about calling. She knew, despite their ever-changing numbers, Finch would find out. He, or someone he paid handsomely, monitored their old numbers. She was sure of it. Finch would know it was the last one she'd had for him. He'd tell John. It might be enough to convince him to hold on. But only if he hadn't already let go. She couldn't be sure he'd still been alive when she'd woken up in Ohio. And breaking her cover to have Shaw show up and offer to accompany her back to New York was pretty much exactly what she didn't want.

"You planning on doing any work today or just staring at the phone?"

Startled again, she fought back her instinct to jerk at the voice. No matter her reality, nor how long it lasted, it was never going to be Jennifer's voice she expected to hear. Not on her phone, not sneaking up behind her, not teasing her about daydreaming when she was supposed to be working. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to concentrate on the monotonous day. Once the phone started ringing - and it would soon - her desire to stare longingly at a phone would fade. Her work wasn't satisfying, interesting, or all that important in her opinion, but it kept her occupied for a while. Between the incessant phone and Jennifer's melodrama, of which there was seemingly no end, the day disappeared as most of the others had in the last year. Noise and activity that added up to nothing. Macbeth had been right, apparently, life was full of sound and fury and signified nothing after all. At least, it was true of her new life.

So different than the days she'd spent with him.

 _~  
a cold night_

 _eerie shadows cast by leafless branches_

 _the thick coat had done little to protect her against the bitter wind_

 _hot enough in the car for fogged windows_

 _one cracked to allow him to see_

 _silence, thick and comfortable_

 _just him and her and the dark_

 _the occasional moment of eye contact_

 _charged as a live wire_

 _minutes stretched into hours_

 _coat in the backseat_

 _the heat of two bodies acutely aware of each other far more effective than the down lining_

 _she yawns_

 _he tells her to sleep, he'll wake her if he needs her_

 _the car seat more comfortable than her own bed_

 _she awakes to the familiar brick of her building_

 _a warm hand on her knee_

 _her head on his shoulder_

 _cheeks burning with a blush_

 _his eyes so warm_

 _loving_

 _he is happy with her like this_

 _his smile is infectious_

She turned down Jennifer's offer to hit up the nearest pub for happy hour. Alcohol wouldn't make her nervous; it would relax her. She'd forget to lie, to answer to the right name, something she did enough already. She'd feel eyes on her and mistakenly believe they were his. She'd smile flirtatiously at the back of a tall, suit-clad guy, anticipating a face that wouldn't be there when he'd turn around. She'd wind up sobbing inconsolably into her double malt.

No.

No happy hour for the walking dead.

She'd leave the happiness to the living.

Instead she drove home, listening for a few minutes to the blather of the traffic reporter as he rattled on about congestion on roads she didn't recognize and recommend detours through neighborhoods she'd never heard of. She switched it off quickly, always preferring the silence that reminded her of him. If she tried really hard, she could pretend he was sitting in the seat beside her, until she glanced over to smile at him and remembered his presence was a ghost. Or she was a ghost.

Maybe they both were.

Maybe this was hell, although if she had been the religious type, she wouldn't have expected to wind up there.

She made it home, changed into her pajamas, and tossed something in the microwave for dinner. Insisted on waiting fifteen minutes, during which she mostly pushed the food around on her plate, before dumping the still warm black plastic tray full of her meal in the trash. She'd dropped a full size since she'd died. She imagined he'd be worried if he knew. He'd want to take her to one of those greasy diners he loved and force feed her fries.

He'd liked her ass the way it was. She'd caught him looking more than once.

She longed for the day she might see his disappointment with her slimmer figure, with the shrinking cleavage he'd be able to steal a peek at when she looked away. She told herself that day would come, when he'd lie about how good she looked, just to let her know he'd noticed. A tear slipped down her cheek when her demons whispered that she'd never see him again, that even if she went home, he wouldn't be there. And even if he was, he wouldn't have waited for her.

But how could he not? If she'd meant as much to him as he'd implied. Though maybe he hadn't implied it; maybe she'd inferred it. It was difficult to infer a kiss, but the more time she spent lost in her thoughts, the easier it was to confuse reality with fantasy. Maybe she'd made the whole thing up.

She turned up the TV and stared unseeing at the screen, waiting for him to appear at her door. He never showed. He thought she was dead, if he thought of her at all. The third time she nodded off and started awake to find herself alone, she dragged herself from the couch to the bed and prayed for a peace that never came. The blissful unconsciousness was always absent. The nightmares never were.

His tears. Always his tears.

As one day slid into the next, she knew this was no kind of life. But she was too scared to go back. Scared she'd really die, scared he already had, scared their relationship was the only casualty. Honestly, she preferred the torture of not knowing to the pain of ever finding out for sure.

Monday to Tuesday to every damn day, they all felt the same. Dreading the silent weekends as much as she desperately wanted the uninterrupted solitude. Solitude was the one thing she'd never really had, certainly not since she'd met her man in the suit.

 _~  
annoying_

 _stifling_

 _claustrophobic_

 _she'd never felt so strangled before_

 _resentment at his constant presence_

 _the phone, the email, the shadow behind her_

 _she was never alone_

 _she hated it_

 _she'd never been dependent on anyone_

 _until him_

 _worse still, she counted on it, on him_

 _she could stay out later, not be careful_

 _he'd never let her get hurt_

 _he made her sloppy_

 _then icy blue that stopped her mental tirade_

 _a smirk sent blood coiling between her legs_

 _she didn't hate it_

 _not a bit_

 _and he knew it_


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

Part Two

She couldn't be sure how many Fridays had come and gone. There had been far too many refused invitations. Jennifer stopped asking. It was easier to get her work done when no one bothered to speak to her. It was better that way. With no one to talk to, she had no worry about slipping up. No chance of alerting anyone to the truth, her truth. She wasn't even sure she knew the truth anymore.

John had been an acquaintance. A coworker of sorts. Not quite a friend. Certainly not a lover or husband. And yet, the more time that passed, the more she mourned him as such, the more she ached for the loss of something that had never been, something that never would have been, something that he'd probably meant as another of his odd jokes to ease the tension of impending death. Of course, he'd thought it was his impending death, not hers. Not neither. He fully expected one of them would be dead. If she ever saw him again, she'd greet him as a long lost lover. He'd think she'd lost her damn mind. But no.

His tears.

He loved her. That was what he'd been trying to say. She'd heard him loud and clear in the silence. In the kiss. They'd never needed words. They'd always had that innate connection.

And sometimes, like as she drove to work on a Thursday, she told herself that connection wouldn't fail her. She'd know if he was dead. She'd just know. Part of her would be dead. But then, she wasn't convinced she wasn't dead. How would she know? And if their connection was as strong as she wanted it to be, he should have known that she wasn't dead and would have come looking for her a long time ago. She was in a quiet, lonely, empty purgatory with only her thoughts, her memories, her imagination to keep her company.

As she headed home that night, she thought once again about calling her handler. She wasn't sure anymore that certain death could be any worse than perpetual uncertainty.

The loud pop made her shriek, a noise she'd never made even in her jumpiest moment in Jennifer's company. There was no time to be embarrassed, not as the car veered sharply to the left. Instincts resurfaced, allowing her to regain control of the car and ease it slowly into the left shoulder. She felt good, excited, alive. For a long moment, she reveled in it. The waning adrenaline rush, the multiple explanations for what might have caused the flat running though her mind as though it was a case for her to solve.

In that breath, she was Joss.

Not a witness, not a soulless body going through the motions. It gave her energy. It gave her happiness. It gave her a reason to be alive, a purpose, like she had given John all those years ago. Joss wasn't dead; she was sleeping, hibernating, waiting for the right time to reemerge from her protective cave.

And for some inexplicable reason, she was suddenly convinced that John was very much alive, that he could feel her too, that he knew she was still alive the same way she knew he was. Their bond was real; it had been mutual, after all. Instantaneous and reciprocal. He'd certainly felt it every bit as much as she had.

With a smile on her face, she climbed out of the car to pull the spare from the trunk. The blowout, she knew, had been her fault. They'd given her a car, a used, late-model sedan. But she'd been sleepwalking since then and had failed to do any maintenance, any follow up; she hadn't even given it a once over. Hell, even standing there at her trunk she wasn't even sure of the make and model. She usually just walked towards wherever she thought she'd left it and clicked her key fob at every silver car until one unlocked.

So the flat was her fault, and she was willing to accept that blame, do the penance by changing the tire in the drizzle that was falling while wearing her khaki work slacks and limp to the next service station on the donut for a replacement.

The empty trunk, however, that was her dumbass handler's fault. Bastard needed her testimony so much that she didn't merit a spare. Fuck. Being a cop was too dangerous, he'd told her, but driving around in an unsafe car was an acceptable risk apparently.

Fuck.

She would have kicked something, except her feet were going to suffer enough walking in her pumps. As if to laugh at her, the rain intensified, matting her hair to her face.

Fucking hell.

She locked the car, carefully crossed to the right shoulder, and started walking. Perhaps the most disappointing thing was that she'd paid such little attention to her surroundings in those months that she honestly didn't know where the closest repair shop was.

Twenty minutes of walking along a sidewalk-less state highway in heels, picking her way through trash and debris and roadkill in the now pouring rain, felt like an hour and left her in a thoroughly horrendous mood. It was just one more of those things that never, ever would have happened to her at home. First of all, there would have been a spare. Secondly, it wasn't possible to walk twenty minutes in any direction in New York City without finding a business or public transportation. And lastly, she had absolutely no doubt John would have pulled up beside her in a luxury car and offered her a ride within a block.

Shivering, she finally reached an intersection. There were two gas stations, both with service bays, both open. One was a chain, located on the same side of the road as her, certain to overcharge the shit out of her. The other looked slightly dilapidated, displaying several ancient rusting wrecks blocking one of the two garage doors, across the diagonal of the intersection from her. She'd have to cross two streets to get there and more than likely get ripped off just as badly. The aching balls of her feet and torn blisters on her heels told her to go to the closer of the two.

And yet, she found herself crossing the street in the other direction, her unhappy feet responding to an instinct she couldn't identify.

The hole-in-the-wall was less likely to have cameras, she reminded herself, less chance of anyone ever finding her, and with the way she'd pushed her sopping hair back, there'd be no way to obscure her face. Cameras were dangerous. Whatever was left of HR could still be looking for her, scanning every camera on Earth with facial recognition software, and somehow would easily find her in a Sunoco in the middle of nowhere.

The tiny station was in worse shape close up, reeking of gasoline, oil, and god-only-knew what else. The guy at the counter was even filthier and missing both of his front teeth.

"What can I do you for?" He asked, his eyes slowly dragging down her body, appreciating the curves her wet clothes didn't hide.

Grimacing, she folded her arms over her chest to hide what she could. "I got a flat."

He reluctantly glanced over her shoulder. "Where's the car?"

"About a mile up." She nodded in the direction from which she'd come.

He smiled then, an altogether unpleasant expression. "Then you'll need a tire and a tow." He shook his head suddenly. "No can do until morning, though, I'm closed."

She turned, obviously eyeing the door that was propped open and the still lit open sign hanging in the window. She shrugged and cursed her instincts for making her waste extra time and energy. "Ok, sorry to bother you." Sunoco it was, apparently.

She hadn't made it more than a step when he spoke again. "Course Jimmy don't mind working late sometimes and you're awfully pretty. Let me ask him."

She really didn't like the way he made her feel like he was doing her a favor, but as the miserable rain's intensity increased into a deluge and a rumble of thunder threatened to deafen her, she smiled despite herself. "I'd appreciate it, thanks."

The man disappeared through the door connecting the store front to the garage, reappearing a minute later. "He's still working on another car, but he'll take care of you if you can wait a bit."

With a quick glance at the downpour and a bright flash of lightning, she slumped into the stained orange vinyl chair that had probably not been clean since it arrived brand new in 1971. "No, no, I'm fine with waiting." It was true, because for some reason, she had no compulsion to move. Even the decades of dirt and the lecherous smile of the proprietor didn't bother her any more.

Maybe she was tired.

Maybe it was because she didn't really have anywhere to go.

Maybe, she told herself, she was simply getting high off all the chemical fumes.

Reaching for her purse, she looked up. "Should I settle up now?"

The greasy man shook his head. "Gotta know how far he has to tow you first."

"It's really not that far," she argued. "I walked here."

His eyes moved over her chest again, admiring her shape once again. "I noticed."

He moved toward the outer door, pushing it closed and turning the lock before switching off the open sign. For a moment, her heart raced, her body preparing for a fight, fear settling in. She hadn't heard any noise from the garage where Jimmy was supposedly working. As far as she knew, Jimmy was a figment of this guy's imagination and he'd just locked her in with him.

And there was Joss again, her muscles tightening, ready to fight off her attacker.

It wasn't necessary in the end, as he didn't glance in her direction. He turned away, pushing through the swinging door into the garage. She heard him calling out to Jimmy a reminder not to forget to lock up when he left. She didn't hear a response.

Settling back into the filthy chair, she stretched out her feet. Although a gas station tended not to be the most relaxing place in the world, the pounding of the rain, coupled with the walk, calmed her considerably. Her eyes drifted closed as she took a deep breath and let herself sink further against the back of the chair. Even with her sore feet and wet clothes, she was comfortable. She could drift off to sleep, she knew, if she had enough time. It was tempting, considering her level of exhaustion since her relocation was off the charts, but she couldn't. The dreams, nightmares, memories – they'd come back and she knew she would wake up with the awful sight of him crying over her fresh in her mind.

No, no sleeping. It was best to keep herself awake as much as possible, to keep her real self at bay, to spare poor Jimmy the trouble of dealing with her hysterical over the loss of something she'd never had with a man she'd never get over.

But even as she sat there, semi-conscious and thoroughly relaxed, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She felt eyes on her. His eyes, she'd swear; a nervous yet not unwelcome feeling of anticipation creeping into her body. She must have fallen asleep after all, because there was no other explanation. It would be a nice change, she decided, to have a pleasant dream of him for once. She wanted to enjoy it.

Still, the instincts wouldn't let her be. She reluctantly pried one eye open, promising herself she'd just take a quick peek to assure herself that she was alone, and then she'd happily go back to her dream. Instead, she found Joss' instincts were still dead on, somehow having known someone was there despite his silent arrival. Her mouth dropped open in shock, a smile forming even as she told herself she was definitely still dreaming.

There he was, standing before her, the same imposing height, the same commanding presence, even the same overgrown hair and unkempt salt and pepper beard he'd had the first time they'd met.

 _~  
those eyes  
_ _damn them  
_ _more addicting that any street drug known to man  
_ _just like heroin, the first hit was enough to suck her in  
_ _despite his attire, despite the filthy worn out clothes, despite the stench of alcohol radiating from the homeless man, she was drawn in from the first glance  
_ _even then, she'd felt his gaze like a touch, a caress, an embrace  
_ _his beard hiding what might have been a smile as she attempted to befriend him  
_ _but his eyes gave it away  
_ _the creases in the corners  
_ _he felt it too  
_ _she hadn't understood it at the time  
_ _he could have shut down, denied her his voice, his prints, his time  
_ _but he didn't  
_ _he played along  
_ _toyed with her, the warmth in his eyes giving away how much that tiny bit of human connection had meant to him  
_ _he'd given her his prints without a fight  
_ _the only thing he'd given her freely in the long tug-of-war that ensued  
_ _their little power struggle  
_ _they'd both lost  
_ _or won  
_ _hard to tell  
_ _they kept up appearances, even with each other  
_ _except he'd broken finally, when it was too late  
_ _she'd seen his tears, his panic, his fear  
_ _his love  
_ _those eyes held a world of feeling  
_ _those god forsaken beautiful eyes_

Except it was all wrong.

Those eyes, those playful, mischievous, teasing, tempting, mesmerizing, icy blue eyes that had always, always melted with affection when he looked at her, were missing. Those eyes that had always belied the cold, angry monster he tried to pretend to be when he wasn't helping little old ladies cross the street – they weren't looking back at her. This man's eyes were blue, alright, but they held no mirth or recognition or life. The shiver that ran through her chilled her to the bone more effectively than the cold rain had. She might as well have been staring into the eyes of a dead man. A dead John Reese.

No, it wasn't a dream. It was a damn nightmare and she wanted it to end.

Blinking back the tears that had started to form at the hope of a reunion and refusing to give into the new ones that threatened at the sudden absence of that hope, she glanced at the patch affixed to the grease stained jumpsuit he wore. Gus. Not John. Not even Jimmy. Who the fuck was Gus? Was he even real or a combination of reality and her nightmare?

"You've got a flat?" His voice was gruff and harsh, but not entirely unreminiscent of John's. It sent another shiver through her.

She tried to force a friendly smile while she nodded. No sense pissing off the only thing between her and a long, wet walk home. "Jimmy?"

He jerked his head toward the garage. "Truck's this way." He disappeared through the door without another word, leaving her to assume she was supposed to follow him.

She wasn't sure following a figment of her imagination was a good idea, but she didn't see any other options. Everyone had a double out there, that was what people said, wasn't it? Who could have guessed that John Reese's doppelganger was a grease monkey on the outskirts of Pittsburgh? She'd have to tell him about it someday, provided she ever saw him again.

The truck was already running, Jimmy impatiently gunning the engine. As much as she might want to stare at him and pretend he was someone else, he clearly had other plans. He was staying late to do her a favor, after all, probably putting off his own life, a girlfriend, a wife, a family. Something. Somewhere he'd rather be. Not that she could blame him. There were about a million places she'd rather be herself. Most of them with Jimmy's twin.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled open the passenger door and climbed up into the seat beside Jimmy. The heater was blasting already, fogging up the windows, choking her with the scent of oil and grease and something else, something decidedly masculine, something so familiar it made her ache. She wanted to suck it in, inhale it so deeply she might never smell anything else. Instead she reminded herself it wasn't really him and reached for the window controls, shocked for a minute when she stared at the old crank handle.

"Is it ok if I open the window?" She usually looked at people when she spoke to them, it always helped her determine if they were honest, but she wanted to continue to delude herself on some level that she was sharing the cab with John and she knew if she looked at him, the man beside her would be a regular, greasy mechanic type leering at her and not the spitting image of the man she loved. So while her head turned toward him, her eyes remained down, letting herself believe there was something familiar about the stained gray uniform.

"It's broken."

Every word hurt. The gruff tone was gone, replaced by the voice she'd know anywhere. How could someone look so much like him, sound so much like him, and not be him?

Swallowing hard, she nodded. Obviously, none of it was real. She'd had a bad day and her unconscious was trying to make it better by summoning up someone who'd always made her bad days better.

"Where to?"

She had to look. She couldn't resist. Even if it ruined her little pretend world. His voice had kept her his captive for all those months she'd chased him, when his teasing drove her crazy with how much she wanted more of it. And still, the profile, the face, it was so very much his.

Yet the eyes that looked back at her clearly felt nothing. Definitely not him. John had never been able to hide his emotions, not from her. Her heart was breaking all over again.

Her chin trembled as she turned away. Speech was beyond her, the lump in her throat threatening to dissolve into tears. Her gazed fixed out the foggy window and she saw the other gas station, the one she wished like hell she'd chosen. Some instincts she had, only good for causing her more pain. As though she didn't have enough already. Unable to speak, she pointed to the left.

Of course it took no time at all in the truck to retrace her steps, which was merciful for both of them. She wasn't the only one eager to escape the situation apparently, because as soon as he'd confirmed it was her car, Jimmy jumped out before the truck had completely stopped moving. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself to get through the next few minutes, she met him behind her car.

"Spare in the trunk?"

"If I had a spare, I could have changed it myself."

She watched him, her eyes riveted by the face no matter how much pain she knew it would cause her in the long run. She saw the dread wash over him, an expression she'd never seen on John's face. She'd known Jimmy didn't want to be there anymore than she did, but suddenly she realized that she was getting something out of it, at least seeing a face she desperately missed. He, however, looked very much like he wished he'd refused to help.

She wanted to say something, anything, but words were failing her. So she said nothing.

He nodded at her car. "Put it in neutral, then get back in the truck." He headed for the back of the truck, pulling a heavy chain free and squatting down to attach it to something under her car.

Doing as she was told – she'd never been one to resist that voice anyway – she waited in the truck for him to return and tried to mentally prepare herself the ride back. The rain intensified, pounding on the hood and fogging up the windows while she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She twisted around in her seat, trying to catch a glimpse of her missing companion, wondering what the hell was taking him so damn long and hoping she wouldn't have to go back out in the rain. The paranoid tendencies that had kept her alive so many times as a cop were telling her something was wrong. She adjusted the rearview mirror until she caught sight of him, the familiar stranger who probably had no idea he was killing her. Or maybe he did.

Because he was staring at her.

As far as she could see through the deluge and misty windows, Jimmy was just standing there, staring at her. The car was attached to the truck, front wheels lifted off the ground. And he was still standing there staring. He had to know she had caught him because she felt the almost palpable charge shoot through her body when her eyes caught his in the mirror.

Her heart skipped a beat, her instincts going crazy with indecision. Either she'd been right initially and something was very, very wrong or…

Something was very, very right.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 3

_AN: I greatly appreciate the comments I've received. I've been working on this story for almost three years and they have been extremely tough years for me. You have no idea how much your reviews mean. I am, however, looking for a beta/sounding board, so if anyone is interested, PM me._

 _Thanks and back to the show…_

Part Three

No longer giving a shit about her shoes or her feet or the pouring rain, she shoved the door open and hopped down from the cab. Her heart was pounding so hard she couldn't hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears. She approached slowly, not wanting to scare the man who hadn't moved. He remained perfectly still, staring at the mirror, not even blinking. As she moved closer, she kept telling herself she was crazy, that this guy she didn't know was apparently quite crazy too, and that she was likely to wind up dead in a ditch somewhere for her trouble. But John had always convinced her to ignore common sense.

She swallowed hard, knowing she'd have to interrupt whatever thoughts had left him transfixed long after she'd moved from his line of sight. "Is something wrong?"

As soon as she spoke, his eyes closed, the immense pain reflecting on his face enough to take her breath. She'd had little choice in the matter of putting one foot in front of the other, making the best of this life that had been thrust onto her. She had to survive if she wanted to get through it and eventually go home. But John, if she was right, hadn't gotten through it. He'd given up, that was why he was out there in the middle of nowhere fixing cars, that was why his eyes looked so cold and dead.

And whether it was her fault or not, she knew she was to blame. She had to fix what she'd broken, what her absence had broken. She had to fix him. Unable to stop herself, she reached out, gently gripping his hand. "John?"

He jerked in surprise, yanking his hand back so fast that for a moment she thought he was going to hit her. She flinched. "It's Jimmy. Get back in the truck." His expression was stoic once again, his eyes suddenly so cold, his face so angry she wasn't sure there was actually any resemblance to John at all.

As she dragged her sodden body and deflated hope back into the truck, she knew she'd been wrong. This guy wasn't John. He really was just someone who looked a hell of a lot like him. Because she was sure John wouldn't deny her. He wouldn't have rebuffed her like that. She told herself it was just rain dripping down her face because it would be ridiculous to cry over the fact that this tow truck driver wasn't actually John hiding out because he'd been too crushed to continue his life without her.

She chewed on her lip during the ride back, focusing all of her energy on hating her stupid handler for leaving her without a spare. The hurt she felt was their fault. Not hers. Not John's. Not even Jimmy's.

The ride back to the station was even more painful than the ride out had been. Maybe because she'd had her hopes dashed. Maybe because it wasn't fair for her to run into a man who looked so very much like John and yet wasn't him. Maybe because at the end of the day she was used to going home and crying until she felt exhausted enough to sleep and she was well overdue for even that tortured rest.

And still, when the truck pulled to a stop outside the derelict station, it was far too soon. She felt stupid, as though she'd squandered the precious time she'd been given, the rare gift of being able to take in every detail of his beautiful face, even if it wasn't really his. She could have spent the time soaking in a presence so like his that it had fooled her so completely. Instead of watching him and trying to construct an insane narrative that would explain how it could possibly be him, she'd wished the time away while staring at anything besides him. Just one more huge mistake in a life filled with them.

He was out of the truck before he seemed to remember she existed. "You can wait inside, won't take long."

She was going to force a smile in return, but there was no point. He was already working the controls to lower her car to the ground. With a heavy sigh, she did as instructed, letting herself into the small station. She had nothing better to do, nothing else to look at while she waited, so she stared out the window and watched Jimmy as he worked to remove the busted tire. He didn't seem to care, or even notice, the pounding rain that continued to fall. He was entirely absorbed with what he was doing, yet another thing about him that reminded her of John. When he'd finally freed the wheel from the car and retreated with it into the garage where she couldn't see, she found herself wondering how many things two people could possibly have in common before they actually became the same person.

She wondered if Jimmy looked and spoke and acted and moved so much like John, what it would take to convince herself that he was John. She'd already been so convinced that she'd tried to reach out to him once. She could just close her eyes and reach for him and she knew her mind would happily play along. Hell, Jimmy would probably play along too; she'd never had a man refuse her. She could have that much, resolve those physical feelings at least, tell herself that it was really John. She dismissed the idea before it had truly formed. Because it wouldn't be right. Because it wouldn't satisfy anything, especially not her curiosity. Because it wasn't him. And somehow, that was a fresh disappointment, the scab ripped off the perpetually unhealed wound.

It hurt more than that bullet that had ripped through her chest.

She flopped down into the chair facing the small counter, exhausted emotionally and physically, suddenly desperate to get back to her apartment so she could try to pull herself together. It was moments like this that made her question her decision to go into witness protection. She couldn't identify anyone who was actually benefitting from the hell she'd brought on herself. Even another, more accurate gunshot that killed her would be less painful in her estimation - at least her misery would be over. Her eyes slipped closed and she resigned herself to the same argument she had with herself every day and night about whether or not to pull the plug on the whole situation.

"You're all set." His approach had been silent and his voice so unexpected that she jumped to her feet, momentarily terrified.

Her heart was racing even after her eyes fell on the familiar, if not quite right, form at the counter. And naturally, seeing the face of the man who'd so often set her heart racing with just a smile wasn't enough to calm her down. She put her hand to her heart, wondering if he might really have scared her to death.

"Sorry." He half shrugged at her. "Didn't expect you to be so jumpy."

"I'm not jumpy when people don't sneak up on me." The response fell out naturally with a smile on her lips, her instincts reacting to the presence of Jimmy as though he were John. In retrospect, she felt uncomfortable for the teasing answer.

His discomfort was terribly obvious. He stared at her for a moment, his face blank, his eyes eventually sliding down to the paper in his hand.

No, he wasn't John, but she felt bad for making him uncomfortable just the same. She stood up and stepped over to the counter, digging in her bag for her wallet. "Sorry, you just reminded me of someone for a minute there." Wallet in hand, she looked back up at him to find a hint of a grin curving his lips.

"Yeah, you too." He pushed the paper toward her, an invoice he'd written up, in a scrawl that was entirely unlike John's careful, precise printing. "It's a hundred for the tire. Don't worry about the tow."

She wanted to argue, to demand to pay for the work he'd done in the rain, but getting home as quickly as possible was more important. She pulled a card out of her wallet and offered it to him. "You take Visa, right?"

He nodded, taking the card, sliding it through the machine, and giving it back to her without even looking at it. They were silent while the ancient machine worked, slowly spitting out the receipt with a noise that indicated it was a Herculean effort. He tore off the slip, turning it around for her to sign.

Signing her name was always a complicated process for her as she fought her initial tendency to write Jocelyn. Finally reminding herself of her new name, she carefully signed it. Jimmy took the slip from her, the awkwardness grating on her nerves while they waited for the machine to print her receipt. But when the receipt had printed, he didn't move. She glanced up, wondering what was wrong, fearing she'd accidentally written her real name after all and that he'd noticed it wasn't the same one as on the card.

His attention was on the slip as she feared. As she hoped.

It was the last test, even though this double had already failed the first ten. As with all the others, she told herself this was the important one. The real one. The one that would truly tell. She'd named herself after him. Him and her son. It had seemed appropriate at the time, choosing to call herself by the names of the two most important men in her life.

Rather than gasp in shock or shout for joy or otherwise uncharacteristically reveal emotion, Jimmy didn't seem to care. Her signature was too new to be distinct, her name too unfamiliar to be messy. He couldn't possibly have missed it. He simply stuck the receipt on top of the others that sat in a haphazard stack on the counter.

She waited for something, anything, even though she knew better. Maybe _this_ was the real test, seeing if he would let her walk away. And still, nothing. How many times could she convince her hopes to rise before she finally learned her lesson? She turned to go.

Hope springs eternal, they said. Whoever they were, they were apparently acquainted with her because the rush of excitement tore through her yet again when he cleared his throat.

~  
 _say it  
_ _just fucking say it  
_ _breathe life into the words they both already knew  
_ _her birthday  
_ _meaningless more or less anymore  
_ _card from mom  
_ _burned omelet from Taylor  
_ _stack of work from her boss  
_ _fresh murder scene instead of dinner  
_ _and then, an unexpected figure in her backseat  
_ _a smirk in her rearview mirror  
_ _a flimsy excuse for needing to see her later  
_ _just to let her know he was thinking about her  
_ _the eighth cup of coffee of the day at ten pm was the best part of her birthday  
_ _a not-date with the last man on Earth she should ever have fallen for  
_ _the bullshit excuse was so transparent he didn't even mention it when he saw her for the second time that day, didn't fake his way through pointless conversation  
_ _just sat there with a mug of coffee he wasn't drinking between his cupped hands  
_ _his eyes warm and gentle as they stared at her  
_ _just another reason she loved him, because he knew when not to speak  
_ _didn't know when to speak either though  
_ _after he'd wasted those rare words of his to cajole her into celebrating with a piece of pie, he denied knowledge of anything they might be celebrating  
_ _after he chivalrously walked her home  
_ _after he flirted unabashedly about the creepy stalkers that lurked in the dark who might be inexplicably, inexorably enthralled with her  
_ _after he lingered at her door, standing a little too close and silently begging her to invite him in  
_ _his talent for silence returned  
_ _his eyes, his faint smile, said as much as nonverbal communication could  
_ _her eyes begged too; she'd never been any good with hiding her feelings  
_ _she just needed a little more  
_ _a little something extra from him  
_ _something that might suggest he wouldn't refuse, politely of course, the invitation she was desperate to make  
_ _he stared silently  
_ _she cursed silently  
_ _just fucking say it  
_ _say it  
_ _say something  
_ _anything that might allow her to grab him and drag him into her house and never let him go  
_ _a warm hand on her face  
_ _the slightest move toward her  
_ _a kiss on her cheek  
_ _good night  
_ _his body retreating before she could even wrap her head around what had happened  
_ _what hadn't happened  
_ _Jocelyn Carter's last birthday had been her biggest disappointment ever_

Her heart was beating wildly when she spun way too fast, all of the emotions she'd never been any good at hiding written all over her face.

"You want your receipt, Ms. Reese?"

It was worse than good night. But she couldn't resist giving him yet another chance as she reached out for the slip. "Taylor."

"You really should get a spare too, just in case."

She wanted to slug the poor stranger who'd broken her a couple hundred times in the previous hour. He was right though, a flat tire had hurt her worse than a bullet had. Without bothering to answer, she walked out of the shop and climbed back into her car. She almost made it off the lot before the tears blinded her.

She didn't bother trying to sleep. The nightmares came every night; certainly after the evening she'd had her night was doomed. Rather than making a futile attempt, she changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the kitchen, and settled onto the couch. She wasn't a big drinker, not a fan of the inherent loss of control that followed, but she needed to shut down for a few hours. She was used to being tormented in her sleep, but losing her waking hours to her ghosts was simply too much.

She found a black and white movie she wasn't the least bit interested in watching, took as many swigs directly from the bottle as she could gag down, and tried to not think. Each time her mind threatened to turn to John, which was pretty much continuously since every character who came on the screen reminded her of him in some way, she took another swallow. Her eyes grew heavy quickly, and then, without the distraction of trying to see John in someone else, her mind happily conjured up the real thing, the memories that were normally choked behind her vivid recollection of his pained, tear-filled eyes. Her dreams were far more peaceful than they had been, filled with images and memories of his eyes and smile and the rare times he laughed and the even rarer times he touched her and that one life-changing moment when his lips found hers.

She woke up in the wee hours, in a decent mood despite the headache, her lips still curved into a smile at the memory of his mouth on hers. It only took a second for reality to come crashing back down around her. Thought it felt so recent in her dream, that kiss had been a long time ago. Might as well have been a lifetime. It had been to her.

No longer reminding her of John, the TV was annoying, so she switched it off. She found herself drawn to the window, the curtains still open since closing them had been the last thing on her mind when she'd arrived home. The scenery wasn't much to look at, the suburbs a bland nothing compared to the majesty of New York City at any hour. Her eyes drifted over the parking lot, over her car parked just below her window, the sight of it reminding her of Jimmy, the man who so easily could have made her dreams come true. She had wanted it so badly, and while she was a grown women who knew getting her hopes up inevitably led to having them dashed, it was still nice to know that her broken, burned heart still had the capacity to feel like that.

As her eyes drifted over the empty street and tall trees that lined it, she remembered those early days, when the chase had been so new, when she'd had no idea where he would lead her, while knowing she had no choice but to follow, when she'd feel eyes on her, his presence palpable even then, when she'd spin around in the middle of the sidewalk only to see a hint of a shadow disappear around a corner.

Scary as it had been, her instincts had known to trust him, and she'd always been more eager than frightened. Even after she'd gotten to know him, they'd continued to play, John getting as much, apparently, from it as she had. She missed it. She missed him. The toying, the flirting, the teasing. Their slow burn had finally started to flame when it was snuffed out.

And for a moment, as she stood there longing for it, she felt it again. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, her heart skipping suddenly, her skin tingling with electricity, like it had in the truck when she'd found his eyes in the mirror. She searched the darkness below her second story window, looking for something she knew wasn't there. It had been seeing the other man, she told herself, the familiar face of a stranger throwing her barely settled life into chaos. And even as she told herself not to, her instincts overwhelmed her senses, her eyes on the shadows. There was a particular spot, darker than the rest, where her eyes were drawn, a sudden chill raising goosebumps on her arms. The shadow moved.

Someone was there.

He was there. Every instinct in her body told her so. The odds were infinitely greater that the someone wasn't there for her, that if they were, it was HR having tracked her down.

And yet, she was sure. Her heart was sure.

Why he'd denied her, she couldn't guess, but it wouldn't have been the first time he'd misled her in a misguided attempt to protect her.

Her eyes remained fixed on that spot, refusing to look away, refusing to even blink, until the edges of her vision swirled, a deep gray fog surrounding the image until the darkness had closed into a tiny, circular tunnel. Unable to deny the urge any longer, she blinked. Her vision remained fuzzy, her head starting to swim as her sight blurred. She was hyperventilating, she knew, felt the rapid heaving of her chest, drawing in far more air than her body could process. Her hand gripped the window frame, her body fighting for consciousness as it threatened to leave her. For the briefest of seconds, her eyes slipped closed, her body martialing up all of its resources to keep her from falling.

Her heartbeat slowed, along with her breathing, her clammy hand dropping back to her side as she regained her balance. The physical response was gone then, just as quickly as it had come. Her eyes once again fixed on that spot, searching. Not finding. He was gone. If he'd ever been there at all.

No longer feeling any compulsion to look outside, she returned to the couch with her mind reeling. Maybe she'd imagined it. Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe she was drunk. Maybe she'd finally lost her damn mind. Maybe it had been him and seeing her that evening had thrown him as much as it had thrown her. But if it had been him and he wasn't there to find her, what was he doing there? Was it possible that fate had pulled them together for a second time?

She'd never considered herself lucky, but if she was getting another chance, she was sure as fuck not going to let it go. She had no idea how she might manage to chase John Reese down without any resources whatsoever. She'd have to figure it out somehow. Because living with having lost him once, she knew she'd rather be dead than lose him again.


	4. Chapter 2 Part 1

Chapter Two  
Part One

He didn't know how he did it. How he kept breathing. How he kept getting up in the morning after a night without sleep, putting on his clothes and going to work. How he kept from just lying down on the ground and dying himself. He'd been plagued with nightmares most of his life, having to hide from all the things he'd done and seen by refusing himself the creature comfort of closing his eyes and resting. Instead he'd force himself to stay awake with as much caffeine as his stomach could take until he involuntarily passed into unconsciousness for a few minutes. He'd learned how to survive perpetrating and enduring countless horrors in his life.

But losing Joss, no. He couldn't. He couldn't think about it. He couldn't think about her. He couldn't sleep or stay awake or breathe without feeling a pain worse than he'd ever felt.

He tried to shut it out. He tried to pretend it wasn't real. He tried to go on like nothing had changed. It had, of course, as evidenced by how gently everyone he knew tried to get him to talk about it, about her, about his feelings, about what she would have wanted, but he brushed them off. Joss was the one who'd gotten him through his last loss, one that suddenly seemed trivial in comparison, and without her to hold onto, he wasn't sure he was going to make it this time. He didn't want to. He didn't see the point.

But Joss would be so disappointed if he ate his gun. He didn't need anyone to tell him that. He knew it. And so he didn't. He kept trying to survive. For Joss.

It happened every day. At least three times. Usually more. Usually a lot more. It was so common, in fact, that as he hastened his steps to catch up with her, completely ignoring his mark as well as his boss shouting in his ear that he was making a mistake, it almost felt like a memory. He was about as powerless to change the outcome too.

With his height, it never took more than a few strides, his hand reaching out for her shoulder, his voice hesitant but determined. "Joss?"

She'd feel warm and solid and alive under his hand for that moment, invariably turning at the unfamiliar voice calling the wrong name. Mostly, the woman would smile, shake her head, sometimes a bit disappointed that he wasn't actually intending to talk to her, apologize for not being a dead woman. Sometimes she'd be scared, terrified scream at the ready. Sometimes she'd be pissed off at his presumption to touch her.

Finch's voice would come back into focus, either gently reminding him that Joss was dead or angrily informing him that he'd fucked up yet another assignment by letting something happen that he was supposed to be preventing while he was instead distracted by a ghost. And then he'd feel his jaw start to twitch, his hopeful expression crushed by reality, his brief respite from the truth having been stolen from him yet again.

He'd try, if he was able to speak past the lump in his throat, to apologize, a hoarse 'sorry' covering both the strange woman and his unhappy boss. He'd step back, watch the woman go back to her life and wonder how the hell he'd ever thought she might be his Joss. If Finch thought John was having a good day, he'd point out that the woman was too tall or too short or too heavy or too light or too not Joss for John to have made such a mistake. After the fourth or fifth one of the day though, Finch would lapse into a long silence as John wandered aimlessly around, searching for another woman who wasn't Joss to accost before one of them would eventually suggest John go home for the day.

He'd go, devastated and confused, and spend the long night alone. He couldn't seem to wrap his brain around the facts. He knew Joss was dead. He wished he didn't, but he knew it was true. He'd been there. He'd watched the life drain from her. At the same time, he didn't feel it. Not that he'd ever been particularly interested in feelings, certainly not in place of facts, but in all his training and his current employment, he had to put some value in his intuition, his gut, his instincts. They'd led him to Joss after all, which he recognized was, hands down, the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. So he couldn't easily dismiss the feeling he had that somehow she was still alive. With that idea in his head, every time he stepped outside he caught a glimpse of her. It was never her, of course, because she was dead, but his gut told him that he'd find her. Somehow.

And if he couldn't make sense out of the conflicting ideas, he was in no position to explain himself to Finch. Finch would just tell him that he was nuts and recommend counseling. John couldn't say that the other man would be wrong either. But he was still sane enough to know better than to confess his certainty that he'd bump into Joss walking down the street.

Naturally, as the days dragged past, he never did bump into her. Finch was getting more irritated by his behavior, the women even seemed to be getting angrier, and John himself felt more disappointment with each one. He couldn't quite keep himself convinced that she was there anymore, even though he couldn't stop himself from looking either.

It was a particularly bad day when John grabbed the shoulder of a ninety-something pound Asian woman out for a run and wound up with a face full of pepper spray and a knee to the groin that dropped him to the ground. He watched with one squinty, watering, burning eye as the woman tightened her waist length ponytail with the fluorescent green highlights and wondered to himself what the fuck he was thinking.

"Mr. Reese," Finch started.

"I don't want to hear it." And he didn't. He knew.

Joss was dead. She'd died in his arms, after all. Bleeding out helplessly while John forgot everything he knew besides the fact that the woman he loved was dying from a bullet she'd taken for him. Maybe he could have saved her. Stopped the bleeding. Given her CPR. Something. Anything. There had to be some reason for the guilt he felt, for the utter conviction that he was somehow going to run into her on the street like nothing had happened, for the way he continued to feel like he was living in two parallel universes at the same time.

The burning from the pepper spray was getting worse, as was his vision, and he reached out blindly for the ground, aiming to push himself up. Instead, his hand found a piece of broken glass that dug deeply into his palm. He dragged himself to his feet, looking down through the haze at the blood spreading across his hand.

 _~  
delicate hands  
_ _gentle  
_ _soothing  
_ _she would have made a great nurse, he joked  
_ _she glared  
_ _reminded him she liked kicking ass  
_ _she was so good at it, he joked back  
_ _a touch so soft he barely felt it as she examined his shoulder  
_ _so close her breath tickled his bare skin  
_ _always had to be blood when he felt her touch  
_ _she pronounced he'd survive unless he kept trying to get himself killed  
_ _her hand lingered after she'd covered the wound  
_ _soft  
_ _warm  
_ _loving, maybe  
_ _his eyes held hers as he smiled  
_ _she blushed  
_ _definitely  
_ _but people keep trying to kill me, he explained  
_ _she rolled her eyes  
_ _countered with can't imagine why since you're only the most infuriating man on the planet  
_ _his hands found her waist  
_ _her eyes widened  
_ _shocked  
_ _hopeful  
_ _raising an eyebrow, holding her close  
_ _it felt so natural he wasn't sure he could ever let her go  
_ _I'm wounded and unarmed, Carter, now's your chance  
_ _she thought about it  
_ _he knew it  
_ _her eyes darted to his mouth  
_ _a playful grin spread across her lips as her eyes climbed back to his  
_ _oh, I'm going to need you healthy and strong, John  
_ _thumbs on her hips  
_ _stroking  
_ _so tempting  
_ _it was her game  
_ _she called the shots  
_ _she always had  
~_

A car pulled up next to him, the driver stepping out to offer him a bottle of water and a hand to guide him into the backseat. The water helped ease the stinging, but he knew the redness would linger for days. Not that it would matter since his eyes tended to be red and sore from the lack of sleep anyhow. The car delivered him home, the driver never saying a word.

He knew he should say thanks. To the driver. To Finch. To the universe for giving him that time with Joss. They'd been acquaintances. Coworkers. Friends. For a precious moment, when he'd kissed her, when she'd let him, they'd been more.

Fuck thanking anyone or anything who would give him such a gift only to steal it away.

Fuck everything.

He changed his clothes and cleaned up the cut on his hand, tossing his suit on the floor, opting for jeans and a t-shirt instead. He thought about taking more, but he didn't really think he'd need it. He didn't expect to make it long enough to need a change of clothes. Joss was dead. What the fuck difference did it make if he died in clean clothes?

His phone, wallet, fake IDs, keys, everything was left on the kitchen counter where Finch would find it. The only things he kept were a nine millimeter and the few dollars in cash he had on him. He thought about leaving a note something trite and obvious like "sorry, I can't take it anymore," but decided against it. Finch had probably already known, likely from the minute she'd died, that John wasn't long for this world. He almost felt bad for leaving, except he couldn't feel worse than he already did.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and left his apartment without a backward glance. Then he started walking.

It was strange, although he'd left the earwig behind, he could have sworn he still heard Finch's voice, pestering him with stupid questions. Where are you going? What are you expecting to achieve? Do you need money? A car? A meal?

He chuckled to himself ruefully, wondering if somehow his conscience, what little of it there was, had started to sound like Finch. Or maybe he really didn't have a conscience. Maybe he'd been right about that all those years ago. What he'd had was Finch's voice in his ear and Carter's opinion in his head and that was enough to keep him in line. Without having to worry about what Carter thought of him, well, Finch stood no chance.

After a few hours, he stopped looking over his shoulder, expecting a black Buick to pull up with a couple of large, excessively-muscled men asking that he attend an impromptu meeting with their boss. Finch must have known he was gone, he certainly hadn't made any attempts to conceal it, but the fact that Finch did nothing to even try to stop him told John that he was right to go. Or that Finch had grown tired of babysitting him while he fucked up every assignment he'd had for months. Whichever it was, John was no good to anyone at all in his condition.

It was sometime the next day when he wandered into a shithole of a convenience store looking for coffee. Considering the limited dollars he had in his pocket and his inability to get anymore without causing more trouble than he felt like causing, he couldn't waste the four dollars on a decent cup of coffee at a nice place. He was splurging on the cup of sludge that only cost a buck.

He stood on the sidewalk outside the store, rationing tiny sips of the shit that tasted nothing like coffee, and contemplated his next move. Even if he was eventually going to kill himself, or more likely let himself get killed, he still felt like he needed a plan. No, not a plan. Fuck plans. All the plans he'd ever made had somehow resulted in his current state.

His feet hurt and after walking all night and half the day what he needed was a place to sit for a few minutes. He looked around, realizing that he was half a block away from a bus station. A bum resort. Perfect. He still looked reasonably presentable. He'd be able to pass for a guy waiting for a bus for a while at least, sparing him the trouble of security guards or cops.

It may have been minutes or hours, he really had no idea. The bus station was tiny and except for the guy working the counter behind several inches of bulletproof glass who really seemed to be hoping John wasn't going to bother him, the place was empty. The buses were few and far between; people even rarer. The hum of the vending machine he sat next to teased him with the idea of something to fill his belly, but he rationalized that he didn't have almost two dollars to waste on a tiny bag of chips. He decided, should he get desperate enough, he could bug the guy at the counter, offer a quarter or two for a cup of coffee from the coffee maker on the counter behind the glass. There was a bathroom and a few chairs and heat and no one to ask him any questions. Might as well have been heaven.

John noticed the guy at the counter staring. He ignored him, waiting while the guy finished staring, checked his watch, went back to staring, then eventually leaned a handwritten 'back in a minute' sign against the window. A moment later, John saw him standing on the sidewalk out front, relighting the half-burned cigarette he'd left on the windowsill from his last break. As he watched, John wondered if he should take up smoking. It was unhealthy, he knew, but in his passively suicidal state that would be a bonus. He didn't like the smell or the taste, but really, those creature comforts made very little difference to him. In fact, the stench and yellow stains on his fingers and teeth, should he really put himself into it, might help keep people from talking to him. Another plus.

Digging in his pocket, he checked his cash. He couldn't afford a new cigarette addiction. His stomach growled and he glanced at the vending machine. The bag of pretzels was an ounce bigger than the chips, nearly doubling the amount of food for the same price. He broke down, rationalizing that actually purchasing something would buy him another while of just sitting there waiting for something to strike him.

He chewed on the pretzels slowly, concentrating on the Styrofoam cups next to the coffee maker at the abandoned desk and wishing he could have something to wash down the stale pretzels. By the time he finished the bag, the guy was back at the counter, helping himself to a coffee and staring at his phone. At least he wasn't going to be a problem.

With a serious lack of people to watch, John was bored. Of course, he could go back to walking, but eventually he'd have to sit down again and he had no idea where the next relatively comfortable spot would be, so he was loathe to move before he had to. He checked his cash again. His eyes drifted to the arrivals and departures board. Next outbound bus was headed to Pittsburgh in just under a half hour, if the digital clock was to be believed. Something made him stand up and finally approach the window.

The guy, Nick according to his name badge, looked apprehensive. "Can I help you?"

"How much for a ticket to Pittsburgh?" He'd never been there and had no desire whatsoever to find out what he'd been missing, but for some reason, he was enthralled with the idea of being there.

Nick pressed some buttons. "Next bus is almost here. Ticket is thirty-two fifty."

John felt himself grinning, the ticket costing exactly what he had left. If he'd needed a sign, he had one. "Perfect."

Nick pressed a few more buttons before the printer sprang to life and produced a ticket. Grabbing the ticket and sliding it into a little paper folder, Nick moved it toward the metal bowl that bent under the thick glass. "That'll be thirty-three seventy-five."

Tax. Fuck. If only he hadn't bought the damn pretzels. Suddenly quite desperate to be on a bus going anywhere at all, he shoved the waded up cash and quarters into the bowl. "This is everything I have. Where can I get?" He didn't know why, but the idea that even a place as uninviting as Pittsburgh was off the table devastated him. Damn it, now he really, really wanted to go to Pittsburgh.

Nick looked dismayed, glancing at the ticket he'd printed likely before he was supposed to since it hadn't been paid for. Then he looked at his computer and made a face. He stared at the money, then at the ticket he'd already printed. Finally he shrugged and slid the ticket under the window, reaching into his pocket to produce a five that would cover the difference, going so far as to slide the "change" back to John.

"Have fun in Pittsburgh." Nick offered a smile, probably out of relief that he didn't have to deal with someone poor and pathetic moving into his bus station.

John tried to smile back, feeling guilty as he pocketed the money, unsure what to do with kindness. It wasn't something he found often. The last person who'd been selflessly nice to him had been Joss the night they'd met. And though he wasn't likely to follow Nick around like a lovesick puppy, John felt his heart cracking just the same. Decent people had no place in this world. They were doomed.

 _~  
her eyes  
_ _her face  
_ _concern  
_ _worry  
_ _empathy  
_ _the sort of love for thy neighbor all those religious types talked about and never practiced  
_ _she'd been so damn nice to him that he hadn't even noticed she was fucking gorgeous  
_ _at least not at first  
_ _she would have helped him  
_ _probably driven him to the VA for a checkup before finding a place for him to stay  
_ _checked up on him in the coming weeks and months until she was convinced he'd be ok  
_ _not because he was a soldier  
_ _not because he was a homeless man  
_ _just because he was a person who needed help and she had help to give  
_ _he'd loved her from the very start  
_ _a moment in her presence breathed life into him that he'd never had  
_ _a single look into her eyes  
_ _his faith was restored in the world  
_ _yeah, he'd been sunk from the first second  
_ _she'd been hooked too  
_ _she hadn't loved him, not yet, that would have been crazy  
_ _but she was fascinated  
_ _drawn to him, the way he was to her  
_ _she'd fallen for him soon after, he tried to tell himself  
_ _it was obvious, from the way she let him flirt and joke and take up her time  
_ _from the way she was determined to catch him yet confessed she believed he was a good man  
_ _she'd loved him too  
_ _she told him so  
_ _every time she tried to lecture him and wound up smiling  
_ _every time she ran to his aid  
_ _every time she put aside her life, her family, her morals, just to sit with him  
_ _love at first sight  
_ _he never would have believed it possible  
_ _until it had happened to him  
_ ~

He nodded instead of the smile he couldn't force. "Joss would have liked you." Nick seemed baffled by the compliment, but said nothing.

By the time John was on the bus, settled in an aisle seat so he could stretch out his legs, the exhaustion had caught up with him. He leaned the seat back the quarter inch it would go and laid his head down. He was too tired for nightmares. He slept most of the way, only waking up at the driver's loud shout that Pittsburgh was the last stop and reminding all four of the people onboard to take their belongings with them.

What he was planning to do now that he had followed his ridiculous whim to go there was entirely beyond him. He climbed down the steps, saw the businesses that lined the street to the right, watched the flow of traffic indicating that the heart of the city was that way. He turned to the left and started walking again.


	5. Chapter 2 Part 2

Part Two

He found a small diner a few miles away from the station with a sign that boasted a never-ending cup of coffee. He took a seat at the far corner of the counter and used the money Nick had given him to buy himself a coffee that he knew would make the waitress regret that damn sign. At least he had only missed two days of shaving, which meant he didn't look frightening enough to rule out flirting his way into a free meal from the waitress.

It only took six refills before the waitress, who somehow with her gray-blonde ponytail and bright blue eyes still reminded him of Joss, insisted on bringing him a hamburger and fries, even when he protested that he didn't have enough to pay for it.

"On the house," she said, enormous fake gold hoop earrings banging against her jaw as she shook her head. "It's rare for a non-creep to come in here and sit for hours."

He pretended she was Joss, allowing him to grin playfully. "What makes you think I'm not a creep?"

"Honey, you didn't order a meal you couldn't pay for and then claim to have left your wallet in the car you didn't drive here." She offered him a wide smile as she filled a plastic glass with soda and pushed it toward him. "You can't have coffee with a hamburger. Just ain't right."

He dug out the money in his pocket, shy of four dollars and left it on the counter. "It's everything I've got. Thank you."

She shook her head again. "See, you couldn't be a creep if you tried." She ignored the money and walked away.

Maybe she was right. Joss had certainly thought so. He'd tried to be a jerk, to have no feelings, to shut down any human instincts and do his work over the years. Hell, even Kara had known he wasn't like her. Maybe he needed to stop trying so damn hard to be something he wasn't. Maybe he needed a simpler life.

If he didn't decide to kill himself. Jury was still out on that one.

Marilyn, the waitress, said her goodbyes an hour or so after the sun came up. John watched her leave, thinking briefly of his old life, imagining what it would be like had he still had a link to Finch. He would have checked on her, made Finch look into her life to make sure she was in no danger, probably showed up from time to time, around Christmas and her birthday, for a cup of coffee and leave a fifty as a tip.

Instead he set off on foot a few minutes later, no ability to predict the future without Finch's help and computer intervention. As fate would have it, he bumped into Marilyn a mile past the diner. Her beat up car was pulled into the shoulder and she was pacing in front of it, yelling at someone that he was a damn mechanic and therefore his wife's car ought to run for more than a week at a time.

John had always liked cars. Got on with them better than with people. Cars were machines, simple, physical machines. If they worked, they worked. If they broke, a replacement part would make them work again. People, hell, people were just broken. And there was no fixing them either.

At least he'd be able to repay her for the burger. "Need some help?"

She turned with a wary look that melted into a smile as she pulled the phone from her ear. "You know anything about cars?"

He nodded. "Only when I've had a good meal." Walking around to the hood, he smiled at her. "Pop it, let me take a look."

"See? Definitely not a creep." She lifted the phone to her ear again. "Somebody from the diner is going to look at it. Call you back later."

The car was in serious need of several important parts, but he managed to get it started quickly enough. Her husband, she explained, owned a gas station, but he didn't know anything about cars, having inherited the place from his father. Gus, the single mechanic on staff, was, according to Marilyn, a lazy fuckwit.

He didn't know what got into him, but he found himself offering his flirtatious grin after he closed the hood on the running car. "Well, if he's looking for an honest replacement," he let his words trail off.

"I'll have Mike give you a call. What's your number?" Marilyn was holding her phone at the ready, expecting a phone number. When he didn't answer immediately, she cocked her head to the side. "No phone, no money… you're not running from the cops, are you?"

Shaking his head, he offered as much honesty as he could. "No one's looking for me. I just needed a fresh start."

"She got you good, didn't she?" She continued after it become clear he wasn't answering. "I know a heart that's broke when I see it."

He couldn't even pretend to smile. Instead his eyes darted down. Broke wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. Shattered was a bit closer. Destroyed maybe. Or annihilated even.

Reaching into her car for her bag, she pulled out a receipt and, after checking to make sure it wasn't important, she scribbled something on the back. "I'll tell Mike to expect you, at least to give you something for fixing me up."

"Appreciate it." John took the slip of paper, waiting for her to drive away before glancing down at the address. He really wasn't looking for a job. He wasn't actually looking for anything. But maybe he could fix a few cars, pocket the cash and at least have enough money to eat until he decided just what the hell he was doing.

Without a map or a phone or any desire whatsoever to ask for help, it took him several hours to find Mike's shop. Gus, as the stained overalls identified him, was sitting outside the service bay on the curb smoking a joint and John didn't feel a bit guilty for his plans to render the man unemployed. He found Mike behind the counter of a station so run down it didn't even boast a vending machine.

Mike's lips turned up in a grin that looked more like a grimace. "What can I do you for?"

"Marilyn told me to stop by." He nodded outside toward Gus, who was laughing hysterically at something only he understood. "I heard you might be interested in another mechanic."

Sizing him up, Mike shrugged. "You're the one who fixed Mari's car?"

John shrugged back. "I got it started, but it needs work before I'd claim it was fixed."

"Know how to handle a tow?"

"Yeah." He didn't bother to expound. He really didn't care enough to make it worth the effort to try and Mike didn't particularly seem to care either.

Turning, the older man grabbed something off the counter behind him and tossed it at John. "You're hired."

John examined the gray fabric he'd caught and determined it was another set of Gus' overalls. They would probably fit, but for a moment, John found himself longing for an expertly tailored suit. "When do I start?"

Holding up his index finger to indicate John should wait, Mike crossed the small room and leaned out the door. "Get the fuck out of here, Gus. You're fired." After Gus grumbled something in response, Mike returned to his post at the counter. "How's now?"

"Fine." It wasn't like he had anything else to do.

Mike pointed out the side door that opened into the garage. "Have at it." Then he motioned at the cars in the lot that hadn't even made it inside yet. "Got a bit of a line."

Judging from the looks of the cars, John was pretty sure the line had formed in the seventies. But he didn't care. It was something to do. Mike seemed the type who would pay in cash, not ask any questions about his employee's social security number, and probably had a shotgun under the counter in case there was any trouble. John knew how to deal with guys like Mike. John nodded in response and made his way out to the garage to start work.

 _~  
a new job  
_ _hadn't wanted one  
_ _hadn't been looking for one  
_ _most people would consider it a stroke of luck  
_ _a few hours earlier he hadn't cared if he survived to his next meal  
_ _hadn't planned to either  
_ _but then Carter  
_ _he needed to know more about her  
_ _to see her  
_ _to watch her  
_ _to talk to her  
_ _he'd felt something talking to her that he'd never felt before  
_ _and fuck if he didn't want to feel it again  
_ _he'd go crazy if he couldn't be close to her  
_ _this weirdo was offering an opportunity to do just that  
_ _well, the man might not know that was what he was offering  
_ _he'd used plenty of people  
_ _what was one more  
_ _he'd refused the first offer  
_ _but it wasn't over  
_ _men with means never took no for an answer  
_ _he'd accept the next one  
_ _spent his last dime on a razor and a room for the night  
_ _she'd be checking the homeless camps  
_ _she'd be looking for the beard, hadn't seen enough of his face around it  
_ _the news over his shoulder as he shaved  
_ _the sketch artist's best work displayed for the world to see  
_ _not even close  
_ _without the beard he could walk right up to her  
_ _unless he spoke, she'd never know  
_ _maybe he would  
_ _he was going to enjoy this  
_ ~ _  
_

By the time Mike announced he was locking up, John had two of the cars fixed and a third diagnosed. The new boss seemed impressed and, as expected, offered some cash. "You coming back tomorrow?"

The work was easy, honest; it would keep him busy, keep his mind from going places that hurt. "Yeah, I'll be here."

"Good, see you at nine." Mike started walking away, but stopped with a frown. "I never got your name."

Glancing down at the patch that read "Gus," he was tempted to claim it as his own. He opened his mouth and something else fell out instead. "Jimmy." He didn't know where it had come from. He'd always been John. A thousand different last names, but always John. But Joss had called him John, almost as though she'd known it was his real name, and so he decided no one else would call him that ever again. John was dead. He'd died on that sidewalk with Joss.

"Nice to meet you, Jimmy." John mutely followed his new boss to the door, which Mike locked up behind them. Mike's eyes took a quick survey of the lot. "You, uh, need a lift somewhere? Happy to drop you somewhere on my way." His expression indicated he was anything but.

"No, I'm good." In his earlier wandering, he'd spotted a few efficiency motels who wouldn't look twice when John offered cash in lieu of ID.

"See you tomorrow then, Jimmy." Mike practically ran to his car for fear John might change his mind.

Watching the other man drive away, John's mind turned to Finch. He wondered if Finch was worried or angry or, more likely, sad but not a damn bit surprised. Finch had realized how much Joss meant to him before John himself had. Finch had seen how badly John took her loss. As much as Finch wanted, and tried, to help, there was nothing he could do. As he headed for the closest of the motels, John decided he'd give Finch a call. Once he was settled. Once he knew if it would be a call to say he was doing ok or simply a goodbye to his only friend.

The cash he'd earned for the day was enough to cover a room for three nights with a little left over for a few purchases at the small grocery store up the street. The clerk made a face at the selection of canned soup, instant coffee, and a bottle of whiskey, but the dark look on John's face discouraged questions or comments. He didn't need a lecture about taking care of himself. He didn't want to take care of himself. He honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to kill himself or if he just wanted to give up. So he'd take his trusty soup, which he could eat cold out of the can, and his whiskey, which he could drink warm out of the bottle, and his coffee, which would keep him moving if he decided to get up in the morning.

The night was bad. And long. John had learned young how to avoid the nightmares. Unfortunately, he'd yet to find anything that would block out memories. No bottle of whiskey in the world was deep enough to drown his sorrows. No matter how much he drank, nor how sick he got, all he could think of was his Joss dying in his arms. Even as he passed out with his forehead on the toilet seat, the memory of watching her leave him was the only thing on his mind. And only a couple hours later when he awoke, his first thought was to look at his hands to see if her blood still stained them.

When he showed up at the garage on time and promptly began working on the backlog of cars awaiting service, Mike was pleased enough to ignore the hangover. With a straightforward task and his hands covered in grease, the day passed without his notice. At the end of the day, Mike gave him another handful of cash and asked again if he'd be back in the morning.

After two weeks, Mike stopped asking if he was coming back.

After a month, Mike offered him a key and told him to lock up when he was finished for the night.

While the days passed easily enough, the physical labor keeping him distracted, the nights were a different story. Drinking didn't work anymore. Or maybe it was only useful against self-pity, not grief. He tried telling himself that Joss wouldn't want him to suffer like he was, but he couldn't decide what exactly that meant. Was he supposed to just forget about her and move on like she'd never been there? Was he supposed to question every thought he had as to what she would have said about it? Was he supposed to eat a bullet like he would have years earlier if she hadn't been there to save his life?

But every time he looked at his gun, thinking he was finally ready to accept that she was gone, he couldn't do it. He'd imagine the stricken look on her face upon hearing the news that he'd killed himself because he missed her and freeze, knowing he could never cause her that pain, even if she'd never feel the pain she was dead. It made no sense, but then, his feelings for her never had.

As months rolled by, he still looked for her in every woman he saw. He'd stopped chasing them down, more to avoid the inevitable bitter disappointment when it wasn't her than because he'd stopped feeling the urge, the certainty that he would eventually find her if he just kept looking. Some days were really bad still – days when he was so completely sure he'd seen her that he couldn't figure out if the image of her dying in his arms was a memory or a horrible nightmare he'd made up.

He was nuts, he supposed, unable to reconcile the memory of her death with his conviction that she was still alive; really and truly insane, living in two mutually exclusive worlds simultaneously. Finch would probably be happy to pay for therapy, a nice, long inpatient stay at a facility that more closely resembled a spa than a hospital, but he couldn't ask. He wouldn't give up that tiny, impossible belief that she was still out there somewhere. That notion was all he had, even though he knew it wasn't real. That notion was the only thing left between him and a bullet.

It was late one rainy afternoon when John made his final decision. He'd been vacillating between his two options for over a year: call Finch or kill himself. He couldn't take the dichotomy anymore, being truly unsure at any given time if Joss was alive or dead.

He'd been fine, as fine as he ever was, for almost a week, his attention consumed with connecting the engine he'd just rebuilt to a car that had definitely seen better days. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, some innate sense telling him that she was there, finally there. He knew it. He jerked up so fast that he slammed his head into the underside of the hood. It was a hard enough hit that his vision blacked out for a beat, leaving him slightly dazed as he gripped the car to keep himself upright. As soon as his vision cleared, he realized he still felt the same thing – he'd never been more certain of anything in his life as he was that Joss was there. He looked around the filthy garage, trying to decide what he'd say first, easily picturing the expression that she'd have when she found herself surrounded by greasy, broken car parts. The answering smile fell off his face when he realized she wasn't actually there grinning at him.

He rubbed his hand against the lump that had already formed on the back of his head. It was so tender it brought tears to his eyes, but luckily it wasn't bleeding. A colossal headache was already starting and in the few thoughts he managed between the throbs of pain that felt like repeated kicks to his head, he knew the jig was up. Accosting all those women he'd somehow truly believed were Joss was one thing; physically injuring himself in surprise at her presence which hadn't been real was something else.

Bending down to get back to work on the car made his head feel even worse and he decided it was time to call it a day. It would be a long, miserable walk home in the pouring rain with a nasty headache, no sense in delaying it until it was dark too. Besides, leaving a bit sooner than he'd planned would give him plenty of time to call Finch. He'd picked up a burner phone several months earlier, but he hadn't bothered to turn it on yet.

He'd call Finch. Say goodbye. At least spare Finch a future of worrying and wondering. The truth was that he'd tried. He'd done the best he could as long as he could and he couldn't take anymore. No one could ask any more of him.

He dropped the wrench he was still holding, wincing in pain when the clatter it made only served to make his head hurt worse. He was tired, exhausted really, and he was seriously tempted to take a nap in the tow truck before he left. As he was weighing his options, the door to the office swung open.

"Hey, Jimmy, there's a looker here with a flat. Poor thing looks like a drowned rat. You mind staying?"

John wondered if he should mention to Mike that there were two of him, but decided against it. With a forlorn look at the seat he'd been leaning towards napping in, he shrugged. It was the last thing on Earth he wanted to do, but he really had no pressing engagements. His gun would be there after he changed the woman's tire. "No problem, just let me finish up here."

Mike disappeared back into the office for a few minutes, only to reappear with a reminder to lock up when he left. John hadn't moved an inch. He really, really wished he'd refused to help.

Closing his eyes, he tried to will away the pain in his head and make his way to the door. It took him longer than he expected; he was stumbling with each step because there were two of everything and the ground kept moving. He heard Mike getting ready to leave and thought, just for a moment, about calling out for help. He obviously had a concussion, but there really was nothing to do for it. He wasn't going to a hospital. He really didn't need to be healthy to shoot himself. And even though he didn't feel like changing a tire, it seemed like a good way to distract himself from his plan to kill himself as soon as he got home. It wasn't that he was rethinking it; he just didn't feel like dwelling on it.

He took a deep breath, pushed the pain into the back of his mind, and headed into the office. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. His blurry double vision resolved itself suddenly into a full blown hallucination.

Sitting in the single chair in the office was Jocelyn Carter.

A sopping wet, half asleep Jocelyn Carter, but still.

He just stood there and stared, soaking up as much of the hallucination as he could get. Of course he would move and the beautiful image would dissolve into something that would reveal itself to be anything but her.

The knock to his head must have been harder than he thought. He'd imagined he'd seen her a million times, but it had always been out of the corner of his eye or a fleeting glimpse of someone across a considerable distance. He'd never continued to see her while he was looking straight at someone else.

A part of him felt terribly bad for the poor woman who opened her eyes to find a creepy mechanic staring at her.

But most of him was busy staring at the hallucination that remained in place. The one that even appeared happy to see him. Her eager expression morphed suddenly into one that looked like tears were threatening. He forced himself not to react, knowing that reaching for the hallucination would only make it disappear. Besides, he already had a head injury, he didn't need the face full of pepper spray he'd likely receive in response.

"You've got a flat?"

The fake smile was so unlike anything he'd ever seen on Joss' face it almost broke the spell.

 _~  
her smiles  
_ _so beautiful  
_ _loved sneaking up on her just to see one  
_ _even more when he was having a bad day  
_ _slipping into the back of her car  
_ _sliding onto the bench beside her  
_ _appearing behind her in line just in time to pay for her coffee  
_ _watching her jump in surprise  
_ _letting her pretend to be annoyed  
_ _her whole face lit up with the smile she always tried to hide  
_ _didn't matter if he was bleeding or nursing a broken rib  
_ _always worth the pain to see her face  
_ _to tease her  
_ _she was always so receptive  
_ _made him wonder what would happen if he ever acted on it  
_ _carried through on one of his innuendos  
_ _her dancing eyes seemed to beg him to do it  
_ _the blush in her cheeks  
_ _the parting of her lips when he leaned closer  
_ _could never bring himself to try  
_ _wouldn't be able to take it if she denied him  
_ _better to leave it as a possibility  
_ _to imagine the way she'd smile if he ever did  
_ _she was the only concept of hope he'd ever had  
_ _she was the only thing that mattered to him  
_ _she was everything  
_ ~


	6. Chapter 2 Part 3

Part Three

"Jimmy?"

He jerked his head to the side in the hopes it would dislodge the dream. It only made his head throb harder. "Truck's this way." He headed back into his safe haven, the garage full of broken parts and tools that worked the way they were supposed to in his hands, unlike all the people he'd tried to help. He didn't know, or care really, if his hallucination was following him. It wasn't really Joss and he had a hot date with a handgun, so he figured it didn't make much difference either way. He turned up the heat for the drenched woman who wasn't Joss. Because if it somehow was her, he wouldn't want her to be cold.

By the time the woman, who stubbornly remained Joss' twin, climbed up into the cab, he was gunning the engine. He'd agreed to help this stranger, one last decent act he knew would never add up to enough to tip the scales back in his favor, but he'd had no idea it would hurt this much. And fuck if his hallucination didn't smell like her too.

It made sense, after all, he did spend most of his sober time remembering every single detail of every single interaction with her. Of course he remembered the intoxicating way she smelled. Of course his imagination could reproduce her in perfect detail.

"Is it ok if I open the window?" She knew he was staring. It made her uncomfortable. That was obvious from the way she wouldn't look at him.

And how he wanted to stare into her eyes and drown in them.

Maybe he didn't really want to die. Maybe this was his unconscious bringing him the one thing that had stopped him the last time. But how the hell was he supposed to survive when he finally saw the real woman sitting beside him and realized, once again, that Joss was gone. No, his unconscious was a mean fucker that wanted him to end it, to remind him that the only thing he'd ever wanted to live for was gone. He wasn't going to back down this time. If only he'd brought his gun with him, he'd have taken care of it right then.

"It's broken." The window definitely was. But so was he. And judging from the expression on her face at the news she couldn't open the window, he wondered if maybe she was broken too.

Or, more likely, he just smelled very, very bad. He couldn't remember when his last shower was.

"Where to?"

Her eyes finally moved to his, every moment being with not-Joss hurting more at a time when he'd already decided he couldn't stand the pain anymore. No, he was done with being alive, suffering one miserable moment after the last, knowing anything pleasant he'd once had was long gone. He drew in a breath. At least it would be over soon.

Her face fell again and for a moment, he was certain she was going to cry.

And just what the fuck would he do then? Even knowing it wasn't her, he'd never be able to sit there while Joss cried. He'd reach for her, which would only make this hideous situation worse. Mercifully, the tears didn't fall; he wouldn't have expected less from Joss. In a gesture that seemed to take an enormous amount of energy, she pointed to the left.

Ok, good. She'd walked to the station in dress shoes, meaning her car wasn't that far, meaning he could get there and change the tire and send this woman on her way.

He pointed at the first car he saw pulled over on the shoulder and barely waited for her nod before he pulled in front of it. Throwing the truck in park, he hopped out and practically ran to the back of the car. Anything to get this torture over as fast as possible. He was almost done, almost free. Ten minutes and he'd be alone again. An hour and he'd be dead. All the pain would be gone.

"Spare in the trunk?" He'd change it, then make up some shit about not having the right size replacement at the garage. Convince her to get a new tire from someone else.

"If I had a spare, I could have changed it myself."

For an instant, he was searching for the right words to chastise Joss for not having a spare while teasing her about having to come running to him for help. And then he remembered that Joss was dead and he'd agreed to help this woman and therefore he'd have no quick escape. He felt like crying himself. All he wanted was to get home and eat a bullet and instead he had to suffer through this excruciating trial first.

Not-Joss suddenly looked very sorry for having bothered him. He couldn't let her say something, just in case it was an attempt to comfort him. No, that would be too dangerous, too inviting, too easy. He'd slip into the delusion and reach for this poor woman who would not appreciate it.

"Put it in neutral, then get back in the truck." He walked away, ignoring her as best he could while hooking her car up for the tow. But when he was done, he couldn't move. Couldn't get back in the truck with her. Couldn't hurry up the last few minutes of human contact he'd ever have. Couldn't rush away this blessing, curse, whatever of being with Joss, even if it wasn't really her.

Despite the cold rain pelting him, he couldn't move. He simply stood there, staring at her profile in the rear view mirror, feeling his crushed spirit start to soar. It couldn't be her. She'd died in his arms. His instincts were lying to him, trying to comfort him, telling him this woman was his Joss, offering him this tiny bit of comfort before he gave up, letting him feel that incredible rush of heat and love and connection when her eyes met his in the mirror.

It was her. It had to be. He could never feel that connection with anyone else.

But if it was her, why hadn't she said anything?

It wasn't her. It couldn't be. He'd watched her die. That was the last thing he could swear he knew had actually happened in the reality the rest of the planet inhabited. He'd most likely been completely insane ever since. And there was the little matter of the massive concussion he'd just given himself.

"Is something wrong?" Her voice was there beside him without him even noticing she'd moved; his eyes were still locked on the mirror. The connection couldn't have been that strong, not if he still felt it staring at the mirror when she wasn't even there.

But it was her voice. Hers. He wanted to grab her and hold her tight and never let her go. Except it wasn't her. She was gone and he would be too. Very soon.

No, his unconscious wasn't being kind. It was kicking him in the teeth, like always. Reminding him that he was so awful and had done such terrible things that anything good in his life had to be taken away and replaced with a pain so intense it was not survivable.

Her soft hand closed over his. "John?"

This woman calling him the wrong, right, name by accident – no, this was fate's way of saying he should have killed himself years ago. Before he'd ever met Joss. Before he'd ever gotten the ridiculous notion in his head that there was anything for him in this world besides pain and loss and suffering.

He jerked away so quickly she flinched. Definitely not Joss. Joss would never flinch. Not from him. She'd known all along that he wouldn't hurt her. 

~  
 _her eyes were wide with terror_  
 _pure fear  
_ _pure adrenaline  
_ _she stared up at him  
_ _the pain so intense she couldn't speak  
_ _her vest had taken the shots  
_ _but she still felt the pain  
_ _he'd been there before  
_ _knew the horror of not being able to suck in enough air  
_ _felt the bruised bone from a point blank shot  
_ _she'd be fine  
_ _Elias' plan thwarted  
_ _her CI lying dead a few feet away  
_ _he met her eyes  
_ _she was scared  
_ _but not of him  
_ _of the gun she'd just had fired at her  
_ _of the betrayal she'd just endured  
_ _she was hurting  
_ _and she accepted his touch  
_ _let him grip her hand  
_ _his thumb stroked her skin as he promised her she wasn't alone  
_ _she was completely vulnerable  
_ _completely at his mercy  
_ _she squeezed his hand back  
_ _the smallest sign from her  
_ _she felt it too  
_ _he wasn't alone either  
_ ~

"It's Jimmy. Get back in the truck."

Joss was dead. John was dead. Jimmy was dead. He was dead. He knew even his unconscious got the message finally when the woman's face took on a cold edge he'd never seen on Joss. Driving back seemed to take forever, even though the woman had thankfully stopped trying to engage him. His head ached so much even the sound of the wipers slapping back and forth was painful. Adding emotional upset to a concussion was surely the worst form of torture known to man.

He didn't bother backing into the garage. He was already lowering the car from the truck before he remembered to address her. "You can wait inside, won't take long." It was going to be the fastest tire change in history if he had anything to say about it.

An eternity later, he finished with the tire. He had even parked the truck back in the service bay, using the two minutes it took to put off dealing with her. He desperately wanted to be rid of this woman who wasn't who he wished she was, but he was still dreading the final few minutes of interaction that would be required to get rid of her once and for all. He made his way into the office, waiting for her to open her eyes. It hurt like hell to see her, so much like his Joss that he was obviously seeing what he wanted to see rather than what was. He decided to go with it for just a second, drink in the sight of her, knowing it was the last he'd ever have. He took the time to write up an invoice, as Mike always requested, but as soon as he finished his eyes were drawn back to the beauty in the chair. He missed her so much. He was always aware of having lost her, but sometimes, like that moment, he was suddenly reminded of how terribly lucky he'd been to have her in his life at all and how terribly stupid he'd been to let his chance pass him by and how terribly painful his life was without her.

Feeling guilty and more than a little like the creepy stalker she'd once jokingly accused him of being, he finally spoke. "You're all set."

She jumped to her feet with a terrified expression on her face and her hand pressed to her heart.

"Sorry, didn't expect you to be so jumpy." Because, for that moment, he'd been thinking it was Joss, the woman who would have instinctively known he was there.

"I'm not jumpy when people don't sneak up on me." The teasing lilt of her voice was so very much like Joss that it almost made him smile.

But then he remembered that this was all a combination of an apparently massive head injury and the conviction that was he was going to kill himself and suddenly the entire delusion was just sad. His eyes dropped to the invoice and he was struck by how pathetic that would be as a suicide note.

And then she was in front of him, right across the counter, pain written in her eyes. "Sorry, you just reminded me of someone for a minute there."

It felt so right, listening to Joss' voice explain away some bit of flirting with a bullshit excuse. He couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, you too." He pushed the invoice in front of her. "It's a hundred for the tire. Don't worry about the tow." If it had been up to him, he'd have let the whole thing slide just to get her out of there faster, but he'd feel bad about stiffing Mike for the tire, especially with his plans to not return in the morning.

She fumbled in her wallet, finally producing a credit card. "You take Visa, right?"

He nodded, carefully taking the card without touching her fingers. He cursed the ancient machine Mike refused to replace for taking so damn long to process the payment. Every movement seemed to take more and more energy from his precious reserve and he felt exhausted by the time he tore the paper off the machine and offered it to her to sign. He picked up the signed slip while he waited for her copy to print, his attention drawn to the completely ridiculous words he was obviously imagining he saw in that perfect script of hers he'd know anywhere.

No, it didn't say what he thought it said. He'd already established that he was nuts. Like he imagined all schizophrenics did initially, he decided he'd just ignore this latest hallucination and tossed the signed receipt in the stack on the counter.

He'd taken so damn long deciding not to react to the name that she'd already turned away by the time he looked up. He wanted to see her face, just one last time, one more second to hold onto, one pleasant thought to have in his head for later that night when he finally let it all go. He cleared his throat and tried to convince himself she didn't seem eager when she turned to face him.

"You want your receipt, Ms. Reese?"

Her hand reached toward his, taking the paper he offered. The delusion tormented him with another tease. "Taylor."

It took everything he had to remain where he was, to not reach out, grab her by the shoulders and shake her until the hallucination went away. But she was staring back at him, her eyes pleading with him to go with the crazy.

No. He wouldn't give in. Because if he did, he would terrify this poor woman who may or may not in actual fact look at all like Joss and who may or may not have been named Taylor Reese.

"You really should get a spare too, just in case." It was the only thing he could say that didn't involve begging her to be real. But he was entirely unprepared to deal with the heartbroken dismay that stared back at him.

Before he could even think about what to make of it, she was gone.

And somehow he knew in that moment that he'd been right to feel that connection in the mirror, that it really had been her, and once again, his uncertainty, his indecision had cost him. He gave chase, running out into the lot after her, but he was too late. She was gone. He'd lost her all over again.

Maybe he was really stark raving mad. Or maybe the universe or fate or god or whatever had thrown him another lifeline exactly when he needed it most. He borrowed the truck because it would get him home faster and plugged in the burner phone he desperately wished he'd already charged. While he was waiting for that, he cleaned himself up with a shower and shave. Joss had been partial to the clean cut look, after all.

Finally, he sat down, the charged phone in his hand, and tried to decide what to say. Finch was going to think exactly what John himself had thought, that he was off his damn rocker. But the truth was simple: if it was her, he needed to know. If it wasn't, well, he'd wanted to say goodbye anyway.

He was surprised that Finch answered, albeit a bit hesitantly, on the first ring. "Yes, hello?"

"Finch, I need you to do something for me before you ask any questions."

This time, there was no hesitation. "Of course, Mr. Reese, but please let me say that it's very good to hear from you. I was," he paused, looking for the most tactful approach, "concerned for your well-being."

John ignored the fact that Finch had hit the nail on the head. Neither one of them had ever actually expected they'd speak again.

"I need an address on a woman named Taylor Reese, lives in Pittsburgh." It almost broke him to say it, like breathing life into his fantasy was going to spoil it.

And then the hesitation was back. "Uh, Mr. Reese,"

"I know, just- please, Finch." He heart was racing and he had to get up and pace. He could find her himself if Finch refused, but it would take longer. And he was hoping Finch's reaction would help convince him one way or the other.

"I'm sure there's no point in lecturing you, but please tell me you don't have this poor woman held at gunpoint or something."

"Type faster, Finch." He wanted to laugh at Finch's words, but he was too nervous about the results. His brain was trying to process how it was possible and he realized, if it was her, it had to be witness protection. There was no other explanation for her to be alive and using that name. "And be careful, you probably don't want to alert-"

"The authorities, might be a bit late for that, Mr. Reese. I can, however, make sure they're chasing their tails rather than me." His words descended into mumbles that seemed to be aimed at the computer rather than him. "Oh. Oh, dear."

He was shaking, desperate for the answer, but terrified of it at the same time. "Finch, tell me."

"I- Mr. Reese, it's, well, I can't swear to it, but-"

"It's her." His pacing turned into a stagger and he collapsed into the chair. "It's her?" His voice had dropped to a whisper. "It's really her."

"I don't know how, Mr. Reese, she died in front of both of us."

The guilt nearly choked him. "No, her heart stopped, but she wasn't dead." He could barely talk past the tears he didn't bother to hide. "We left her on that sidewalk, Finch. She was alive and we left her."

"How did you find her?" There was something slightly accusatory in Finch's voice, as though he thought John had left New York with the specific intent of finding Joss and had cut him out of the process.

But John barely heard the question. He'd truly expected Finch would be the voice of reason, reigning his imagination back in from crazy town, reminding him that Joss was dead, assuring him that Joss would stay that way.

But she wasn't dead. She wasn't gone. She was right fucking there in Pittsburgh, close enough to touch.

"Finch, where is she?" He jumped to his feet, suddenly desperate to see her again, to convince himself that he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

The pause was longer than he expected. So much longer that he started to think he'd not only imagined Joss' continued existence, but Finch's surprise as well, and he assumed the delay was Finch trying to alert the authorities to come arrest the crazy man.

"Finch-" His growl was enough of a warning.

"How did you track her down if you don't know where she is?"

He hadn't. And there would be no way to explain to Finch that so many coincidences had aligned. Finch didn't believe in coincidences. "Just give me the address, Finch." Once he had Joss securely in his presence, once he could convince himself that he'd been right all along, once he could believe it wasn't a delusion, he'd be happy to discuss with Finch the likelihood of such a coincidence.

"Sending it now, but Mr. Reese," as he spoke, the phone buzzed with the text message.

Exactly as Finch had feared, that was all John wanted. "I'll talk to you later." He disconnected the call, staring in disbelief at the address on the screen. He wanted to race there, kick down the door, grab onto her and never let her go. But he was too terrified to move. What if it wasn't her? What if she didn't want him to find her? What if she sent him away? She'd been right there in front of him and had walked away. He had tried to accept her death, but he really didn't know what to do with her rejection. He hadn't even considered the possibility that it had all been a ruse to get rid of him and Finch. Maybe she'd only been pretending to like him. Maybe all those time she got mad about having her boundaries violated hadn't been good-natured teasing. Maybe she'd been so damn terrified of him that she'd gone into witness protection and given up her entire life just to escape him.

Then again, she hadn't rejected him. She'd reached out to him, called him by his name, grasped his hand. And he'd refused her. He'd thought he was nuts, he'd thought it wasn't really happening. She'd taken his fucking name and he'd pretended not to know her. The wind was knocked out of him. Damn, that must have hurt her.

He had to apologize, even if she turned him away. He had to fix his mistake. He couldn't live with himself if he'd hurt her. He had to see her once more, know that she was alive and safe and happy. He'd get his last fix and then, if he had to, he'd leave her alone. He'd never actually leave her, not really, but he'd make sure he didn't bother her. He'd be in the shadows watching over her the way he'd intended in the beginning. And this time, he'd find the strength to resist the desire to contact her.

But he hoped, something he hadn't dared do in years, that he wouldn't have to.

He thought briefly of taking the tow truck, simply because it would be faster to drive to Joss' place, but as he started walking, he knew he would never be able to sit still long enough to drive anywhere. Nonetheless, he found himself impatient with the delay, wanting to be there already, hating the molasses-like speed of his hurried strides.

And somehow, before he knew it, he was there, standing in the parking lot of a nondescript apartment building. He saw the silver sedan she'd driven, the color sparkling under the parking lot lights. It had seemed perfectly ordinary earlier, but now it seemed magical, although it was some kind of tether between the horrible nightmare in which he'd been living and this perfect world where Joss was alive and well.

As much as he wanted to go knock on her door to see her expression when she opened it, he waited. He'd believed she was still alive, had been unable to accept the alternative, and he wanted to think it was an innate connection to her. Something beyond his or hers or anyone's comprehension, simply an undeniable bond between them that allowed him to know that she wasn't gone despite all evidence to the contrary. But he knew, for such a thing to exist, for it to be real, it had to work both ways. If it only affected him, anyone would point out that he was merely insane. If she knew he was there too though, that meant it was real.

So he hung back, hiding in the shadow of the building across the parking lot, staring at the windows on the second floor, thinking of her and her smile and her eyes and her laugh and everything about her that had given him a reason to live. He didn't know which of the windows were hers. He didn't even know for sure that her apartment faced the lot. Still, he waited. If he was right, she'd know.

He really didn't want to be wrong.

And then, he saw a figure silhouetted against the glass. His body started to tingle. It could have been wishful thinking, he knew, but he was sure anyway. It was her. It had to be. No one else would have been there, pressing her hand to the glass, answering his silent call.

He'd done it. He'd found her.

He smiled into the darkness. He no longer wanted to storm through her door. He was getting a second chance, a fresh start, an impossible opportunity to start over again with her. He was going to do it right this time.

He'd given so many people a second chance over the years. And now that he finally had one of his own, he wasn't going to waste it. This time, he'd make sure she was safe. Like he should have done in the first place. She was safe here, without his interference. He would keep her that way.


	7. Chapter 3 Part 1

Chapter Three  
Part One

The knock on the door nearly scared her to death, though given the night before, she really should have expected it. Her stomach rolled, as much from excitement as the after effects of alcohol, but it didn't slow her down. The heartbreak of his disappearance the night before was gone as soon as she heard the knock. Maybe he'd chickened out. Maybe he'd wanted to give her a chance to absorb that idea that he was there. Maybe he'd wanted to wait until morning. She didn't care why he'd gone; not as long as he came back. She threw the door open with a smile, a comment about not breaking in ready on her lips.

Except it wasn't John.

Taking in the cheap gray suit and pudgy cheeks of one of her handlers, her level of disappointment skyrocketed and her face fell.

The idiot grinned. "You almost looked happy to see me for a minute there. Expecting someone else?"

And how.

"I got a flat last night and there was no spare. Can I blame you personally for that or was it a team effort?"

Clearly not expecting that, he looked almost apologetic. "I'll get you a replacement. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's a little late now." She wasn't giving him an inch. Although, when she thought about it, if she'd had a spare, she might never have found John. Maybe she should hug the jerk after all.

"So about who you were expecting," he paused for a moment and when an invitation wasn't forthcoming, he pushed his way past her and closed the door. "Have you been in contact with anyone from before?"

"No." She wasn't exactly lying through her teeth. Technically, she'd only talked to a mechanic named Jimmy.

"Then I'm afraid there's a very serious situation we need to discuss."

Her heart skipped a beat. Yes, she'd convinced herself that Jimmy had actually been John, but she knew he wouldn't have done anything to alert the Marshals. Someone else could have found her the same way John had, someone who wanted to hurt her, while she'd been more worried about why John was pretending he hadn't. She suddenly realized the situation could be very bad. Knowing John, he was there to protect her from the person who'd tracked her down.

The thought changed everything. He wasn't there because he missed her and wanted her to come home. He was there because she was in danger and he protected people. It hurt to think he'd gone to the trouble to track her down and protect her, but didn't want her to know. The only reason she could think for him to do that was because he didn't want to get wrapped back up in her life. That would explain why he'd pretended not to know her.

Feeling much sicker than the vodka could ever explain, she faced the man who was there, admitting he wanted to protect her and reminded herself that she had no right to despise him, even if he wasn't John. Sadly, there were a lot of people who weren't John and she couldn't hate them all. "What sort of problem?"

"Someone was checking up on you last night, a thorough search on your documents and background, someone skilled with a computer that we haven't yet been able to trace." The Marshal looked a bit uncomfortable, but she knew it was most likely over the amount of paperwork involved. "We'd like you to consider moving."

"Moving?" She knew before he spoke what the answer would be.

"Starting over. New you, new place."

A fresh feeling of dread washed over her. It wasn't that she was particularly attached to this life, quite the opposite, but starting over completely in another life she also wouldn't be particularly attached to didn't seem like a good option either.

The skilled computer guy certainly sounded like Finch and the timing was right. It was possible that John was there for some other reason, that seeing her had thrown him as much as it had her, that he'd had to verify it was really her, that Finch had tripped all the alarms in his search. And John certainly wasn't the type to reveal anything unless he was sure. But if John was there to protect her and wanted nothing to do with her personally, she'd take her chances with the Marshals. Her feelings for John had grown so much deeper than she'd realized and she knew she'd never be able to stand a "just friends" speech. She'd die on the spot.

She couldn't make the decision without more info. Whether she stayed or not, she needed to talk to John. Get him to answer her the way he hadn't the night before, determine once and for all if it really was him or not.

"Can I think about it?" If the answer was no, she'd just have to refuse. There was no guarantee that she'd see John again if she left. There was no guarantee he'd find her again, provided he'd even been looking for her in the first place.

The Marshal looked a bit less unhappy, probably because she hadn't jumped at the chance to make more work for him. Pulling a card from his pocket that identified him as an insurance agent – she knew without looking because she had twenty just like it in a drawer in the kitchen – then he nodded. "Get back to me as soon as possible. Twenty-four hours at the latest."

She didn't need twenty-four hours. If John was going to ignore her again, she'd know in less than one. The door barely closed behind him before she was racing to get dressed. She'd had enough uncertainty in the last couple of years. It was time for answers. Either he was here for her or not and she wasn't waiting to find out. Everything that had happened in their relationship had been on John's terms and John's time. This was happening on hers.

His phone had not stopped ringing since the night before. Finch didn't like being kept in the dark and apparently, Pittsburgh was sorely lacking in cameras he could purloin. John finally turned off the phone. He'd talk to Finch when he was ready, when he decided what there was to tell him. For now, he was working on his plans, trying to decide what to do, watch over her, make contact, whatever. The truth was that he hadn't decided yet because it still hadn't quite set in. While he desperately wanted it to be true, he still wasn't sure he hadn't just jumped head first off the deep end.

He'd returned home to the shitty motel room after he'd seen Joss and about wore a hole in the carpeting with his incessant pacing all night. He kept turning the facts, delusions, over in his head. If it were real, it had to be witness relocation and he wasn't sure he'd ever understand how Finch had missed it, besides that idea that he hadn't looked, had assumed she was dead, and had moved on the way he kept expecting John eventually would. The Marshals saved her and moved her and set her up somewhere safe, all things he'd never been able to do. He knew she'd had her reasons for trusting them, not the least of which had to do with their badges.

He couldn't blame her for her choices, especially when he realized he agreed with them. If she wanted to leave things the way they were, he'd respect that. He'd always tried to convince her he knew better, that his instincts would serve her better than her own, but he finally understood that wasn't the case. She'd followed her own and had survived. He had to give her credit for it, for walking away from him and omniscient Finch and saving herself in a way they never would have been able to. He'd love the opportunity to tell her, even if she'd never let him live it down. The idea of her teasing smile sent enough adrenaline coursing through his veins that he was fairly certain he'd never sleep again.

His thoughts continued in a frustrating circle all night and when morning came, he went back to the garage for lack of anything better to do. He questioned his decision the moment he arrived, listening with half an ear to Mike giving him hell for the free tow and then asking if he was going to get a haircut to match his clean shaven face. But then John remembered that his instincts had led him to Pittsburgh and the garage and Joss and therefore they had to be good for something after all. While he worked, he considered his options. There really were only three: he could approach her for real, he could wait and see if she'd come back to him, or he could watch over her, protect her, but stay out of her life. It turned out he didn't have to think about it for long.

"Jimmy, your girlfriend's here."

"I'm not sleeping with your wife, Mike." It was a running bit between them, since Marilyn continued to sing the praises of the car-fixing, big-tipping friend of Mike's. Her car, however, failed to be so charmed by John and thus refused to be fixed for more than a few weeks at a time. "What's wrong this time?"

"It's not Mari."

John looked up, feeling the same tingle from the evening before, careful this time not to knock himself stupid, not with the way his head still ached from the evening before. "Who is it?" He couldn't imagine Joss introducing herself as his girlfriend, although, he remembered with a grin, she was running around using his last name.

"Your free tow from last night. Mrs. Reese, I think?"

"Mrs?" He'd never be able to wipe the smirk off his face so he didn't bother trying.

Mike shrugged. "Said you told her to get a spare."

He nodded, and for the millionth time in less than a day, found himself unable to believe his luck.

Mike shook his head as a smile spread across his face. "Don't forget to charge her this time, ok?"

"Tow wasn't even two miles, Mike."

Mike hesitated at the door, finally mirroring the irrepressible grin on John's face. "So I guess you want to handle this one yourself?"

He nodded again. "Yeah, I got this."

"Ok, well, I just remembered I have a call to make, so," Mike made himself scarce, exiting the garage through the back door.

Wiping his hands on a filthy rag, John noticed the sorry state of Gus' stained overalls and started to question the wisdom of letting her come to him. He hadn't actually decided to do that, per se; he hadn't made any decision at all. He hadn't anticipated that she'd recover from the shock of seeing him so soon, but he reminded himself that she hadn't had quite the shock he had. She'd never thought he was dead, hadn't seen the light die in his eyes, hadn't watched the world continue to function as though she'd never been there at all.

She'd acted without hesitation, without waiting for him to make up his mind, which reassured him that it really was her. She'd done the same thing with Snow, had jumped at the chance to corner him when he wasn't expecting it, and although he knew that particular meeting hadn't turned out the way she'd planned, her actions had put them on the path to the friendship he treasured. John knew he might never have made up his mind to do more than tease her from afar if it had been left up to him. And he well could have made the same decision again.

He wished he'd had the courage to act the night before, rather than hiding in the shadows across the parking lot, to approach her on his own terms. But once again, his mind drew up that night, after he'd been shot and she'd caught up to him fair and square, when she'd taken a leap of faith, helped him into the car, and allowed him to escape. Her decisions, her instincts, though naturally so different from his, tended to serve them both well. She'd forced his hand again, obviously deciding he might never get around to it. He really needed to accept that she was always right.

He managed to reign his wide smile into a smirk when he pushed through the door into the office.

And there she was, once again, smirking right back at him, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. She'd been expecting the beard, the scruffy look that did the man no favors while still allowing him to be the most enticing man she'd ever seen. But the beard was gone, and just like the first time she'd seen his unobscured face, her mouth fell open. There was always something about his chiseled cheekbones and stunning blue eyes that left her unsure if she could remain on her feet. It would embarrass the hell out of her to swoon, but damn it, she wanted to.

And if she'd needed more confirmation, the fact that he came through the door with that shit-eating grin on his face was plenty.

She wasn't beating around the bush this time, no matter how much she wanted to fall into their old pattern of flirting and teasing and waiting until it was too late. They'd tried that once and it didn't seem to have worked out so well for either of them.

"Can we talk?"

He had no idea what he was doing anymore and he realized he couldn't even speak when he tried to answer, so he nodded instead.

Her smile disappeared. He wanted to play and she didn't have time. And, considering the situation the last time they'd been together as John and Joss, she kind of wanted to slap him for it. Her tone held a hint of a warning. "John-" He didn't correct her. She decided that was progress. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "They're talking about moving me."

For the briefest of moments, he failed entirely at hiding his emotions. Fear, worry, dismay, and heartbreak washed over his face at once, he knew, because he saw the way she unconsciously mirrored them. But he still couldn't speak, probably because if he tried, he'd start sobbing and begging her not to leave him again.

"My handler said someone was looking into me last night. Is that why you're here? Am I in danger?" Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to stay there, keep the life she had, be a customer service rep, date the local mechanic. She waited while he stared at her. "Damn it, John, say something."

And still nothing. If he was trying to break her, he was succeeding.

Her hand moved to slap him, and though he easily caught her wrist before she touched him, the attempt had the same effect on him. It broke through his stupor and reminded him that, regardless of fate, there were still a million ways he could ruin this. He pulled her arm toward him with one hand, his other reaching up for her cheek and sliding back into her hair as her body fell against him.

She didn't fight, not even a little. Her arms encircled his waist, gripping him with a strength her slim build belied. He felt her start to shake with the force of her tears and though he wasn't shaking, the same overwhelming emotion struck him and sent tears spilling from his eyes. His head ducked down, his face buried in her hair as he cradled her head against his chest.

"You're here," his voice cracked as he'd known it would, but he didn't care. His Joss was in his arms.

The last time he'd held her in his arms had been so very different, so horrifying. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get that memory out of his head, even if he held her forever. But unlike the last time, her arms didn't go limp, her head didn't fall heavily into his hand as her body began to fail. No, this time she was clinging to him, her arms bruising with their force, her hands fisting in his overalls, her nails digging into his skin through his clothes.

And he knew in that instant that as much as he had suffered, she had suffered too.

She couldn't believe that it was happening, that his arms were wound tightly around her, that his whisper was falling against her ear, gently shushing her. Her hands gripped tighter, certain that it was all going to fade away and leave her with that horrid image of him in tears, the way he'd looked that night.

His hands moved to the sides of her face, holding her shaking head still while he pressed his lips against her forehead. "Shh, Joss, it's ok."

Hearing her name, her real name, would have been enough to bring her to tears on a regular day, but right then, from his lips, in his voice, she couldn't breathe for a long time for fear even a breath would ruin the perfect moment. When she did finally give in to the need for air, she inhaled the familiar scent of him and knew, without a doubt, that this reunion had somehow really happened. They'd been drawn together once again and this time, she wasn't going to fight it. And though he was crying, just like in all her nightmares, the look on his face was so very different.

As much as he wanted to stay there wrapped in her arms forever, he was still very afraid that she would disappear at any moment and he didn't want to waste his opportunity to kiss her again, the way he'd dreamt of since the night he'd lost her. Moving his hands to her cheeks, he angled her face up towards his. He met her eyes for only a second, assuring himself once again that it really was her and that she was ok with his actions. She didn't hesitate as she moved her hands to grip his shirt. He knew if there was a worst possible time for what he still half believed was a delusion to disappear, it was right then.

She saw the fear, the pain, the uncertainty in his eyes. Rather than try to reassure him, or even ask what was wrong, what was holding him back, she didn't bother. She could see his intentions – hell, a blind man could see what he wanted. She let go of his shirt, instead sliding her hands to the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

The sensation of his mouth against hers overwhelmed her. It had been so very long since that night when he'd kissed her. She'd missed him more than she'd even realized and she knew, from the fierce way he returned the kiss, that he'd desperately missed her as well. When his tongue traced her lips, she parted them, leaning into him, encouraging him as her hands clutched at his hair.

The last thing she expected was the way he jerked away.


	8. Chapter 3 Part 2

Part Two

It was exactly as he'd feared. Everything was perfect, Joss was safe and warm and in his arms and letting him kiss her much more fully than he'd dared the first time. And then fucking stars exploded behind his eyes, the pain so sharp he nearly cried out. He fully anticipated that when his vision cleared, Joss wouldn't be there. Either there'd be a complete stranger in front of him holding whatever heavy item she'd found to clock him over the head with, or worse, there'd be no one there at all.

But when he could finally see straight again, she was still there. A horrified expression on her face, but there nonetheless.

"John?" She sounded uncertain, scared, hurt, confused. He hated it.

And suddenly, he knew it was real. Improbable as all hell, he'd found her, a dead woman he hadn't actively been looking for. However the hell it had happened, somehow it had. Because if he was imagining this wondrous occurrence, his imaginary Joss wouldn't be looking at him with such a nervous, crushed expression. He smiled at her, unable to hide his happiness with the fact that she'd kissed him, and gripped her hand before she was able to pull it away from his head.

She was terrified she'd misread the whole situation, and his smile, his warm hold on her hand, just confused her more. But then she felt it under the tips of her fingers, a swollen lump on his head, right where she'd been pulling at his hair. "Are you ok?"

He nodded, his smile still in place. "Gave myself a concussion right before you came in yesterday." He shrugged, releasing her hand in favor of looping his arms around her waist. "Pretty sure you're real this time."

His behavior clicked into focus. The way he'd ignored her the night before, the way he'd just stood there today. He'd been trying to spare himself the pain of finding out she wasn't there, the same way she'd tried, and had she recently suffered a head injury, she might have arrived at the same conclusion and ignored what she thought she saw.

Her hands cupped his cheeks as she held his eyes. "I'm real. I don't know how you found me, but I'm glad you did."

He shook his head. "You found me. Again."

There was something about the look in his eyes, his expression, his whole demeanor that reminded her of the desperate, homeless man he'd once been, telling her that by again, he meant all of it. He wasn't simply referring to the coincidence of bumping into him. She'd saved him. Just in time. She'd seen him not twenty-four hours earlier, the state he'd been in, the emptiness in his eyes, and she'd actually believed it hadn't been him. He'd been ready to give up again.

And now, the light in his eyes was back. It would be impossible to deny that she'd made the difference between life and death for him.

"John-" her voice cracked at the thought, even though the idea had certainly crossed her mind many, many times in the years they'd been apart. She'd been terrified of that very thing. It was no comfort to hear him say she'd been right.

He reached out again, pulling her body against his, one arm holding her tight, the other hand cradling her head on his chest. "It doesn't matter, Joss, it's ok now. Everything's ok." He honestly wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort her or himself, but he hated the idea that she was hurting because of something he'd said. She'd saved his life, his soul, too many times for him to ever hurt her, even by accident. "If I'd known you were alive," he paused, his mind finally fitting all the pieces together. "Actually, I was convinced you were, but I assumed I was insane."

She nodded, pulling back to look up at him. "I wanted to come home, but I was scared. I didn't know if-" She couldn't make herself say it. Besides, it didn't matter what she'd feared. It hadn't happened. No matter how close he might have been, he'd managed to hold on. He'd survived. One question answered, a million more to go.

"John, how's Taylor?"

He smiled as he brushed his hand down the side of her face, her cheek, her jaw, her hair. He couldn't stop touching her. At least she didn't seem to have a problem with it. "I haven't seen him in a while, but he was ok last I checked. He's at Princeton, pre-law."

"My baby went Ivy League?" She was so excited she wanted to jump up and down for a moment, but then reality dawned on her. "How can he afford that?"

John shrugged one shoulder, his eyes dropping from hers the slightest bit. "He got a scholarship."

It wasn't that she doubted her son could have earned a college scholarship, she knew he worked hard in school and had the grades to prove it, but the way John was refusing to meet her eyes clued her in that he wasn't being entirely truthful. "What sort of scholarship?"

The averted eyes were suddenly joined by a blush in his cheeks. "An all-expenses-paid, good-til-graduation, sorry-I-got-your-mother-killed scholarship."

And then her cheeks reddened too. Although she was touched by the fact he'd sent her son to a college she never would have been able to afford any other way, she hated that she hadn't had the foresight to put away enough money to make sure Taylor wouldn't need charity. "John, you didn't need to do that."

"Yes, I did. You weren't there because you protected me. And he deserved the chance to go after he worked so hard to get in." His arms settled around her waist, his hands on the small of her back. "Besides, it was the least I could do for my new wife."

She chuckled, feeling the blush growing deeper. "I knew that hadn't slipped your notice."

"No, but it certainly didn't convince me I was sane."

"So if you're not here for me, what are you doing here?" Besides the millions of questions she had about everything that had happened since she left, besides the fact that he seemed very glad to see her, he had yet to explain what he was doing in a garage fixing cars in Pittsburgh.

He'd known it was coming, of course, from the moment he'd realized she was actually there, but it didn't make it any less awkward. No, she hadn't objected to his touch, to his kiss, but he knew some portion of what he wanted to perceive as happiness to see him was simply the relief of seeing someone familiar, someone who knew her as Joss, and in all likelihood, she would have let Fusco or Finch stand there with their arms around her right then too.

But part of his self-inflicted torment when he'd thought she was dead was because he'd let so many chances slip by. Although he wanted to protect himself from the possible disappointment of revealing himself, he was more afraid of screwing up this miracle of a second chance. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that the decision to trust this person with whom he shared such an indescribable connection shouldn't be more difficult than the decision to kill himself had been.

"I couldn't do it, Joss." He paused for a second, seeing her brown eyes wide with curiosity and understanding and not a hint of reproach. "Not without you. It hurt too much." He saw the moisture gathering, the tears beginning to form, and he reached for her cheeks, thumbs at the ready to catch the tears when they fell. "I only made it this long because some part of me knew you were alive."

She pulled her lip between her teeth, unwilling to cut his confession short by sobbing. His thumbs were gently stroking her cheeks, wiping away the tears she didn't bother to hide. She reached up, trailing her palms down his chest. She waited for him to continue, but she realized there was no need. She knew what he hadn't said. He'd walked away from everything in his life because she wasn't there. He'd missed her that much. He cared for her that much. He loved her, of that she no longer had any doubt.

"John, can we get out of here?"

"Not a fan of my new office?" He couldn't help but smile at the look on her face – it was exactly the same one he'd imagined the evening before when he thought of Joss in the disgusting station.

"Less of a fan of your creepy boss."

Following her nod, John turned around to see Mike peering in the door from the garage. "Hey, Mike, I need the day off." Whatever Mike had to say in response, he didn't hear it. His attention was back on Joss. "You have somewhere in mind?" He'd be happy to go anywhere with her. He really didn't care what she had in mind.

"Some place we can talk."

"I know a diner-"

"No." She cut him off before he could suggest Mari's. "I want to talk, not eat."

He glanced down, eyeballing the figure that was a good deal less curvy than it had been. "We might need to talk about you eating." Although she still looked perfect to him, he worried that the weight loss was a sign she hadn't been taking care of herself.

"I have until tomorrow morning to give my handlers an answer." Her expression was dead serious and she knew he understood when he nodded.

"Let me get washed up and then we can go." He only disappeared into the garage for a minute, coming back so quickly she knew he must have been wearing his clothes under the overalls and his hand was still damp from being washed when he folded it around hers. "You're still here." She nodded, realizing that he was still getting used to the idea.

It should have felt strange to lead him by the hand to her car and then into her apartment, but it didn't. Having him there, in her space, in her world, made this ephemeral existence of hers feel more real, more familiar, than it had in the years she'd been living it. As she looked around the living room of the apartment she'd been in for more than two years, she felt like she was seeing it for the first time with him. The couch and chairs, coffee table, TV, shelving unit – they'd all been supplied by her handlers, had been set up before she moved in, hadn't been touched since. The shelves were empty on the bookcase, no pictures, no knickknacks. The coffee table was empty too, no mail or magazines littered its surface. The walls were plain as well, no artwork obscured them. The dining room looked exactly the same as the day she'd moved in and she couldn't be sure she'd ever actually set foot in there. What she could see of the kitchen looked much the same, the only evidence that she ever went in there was the half-full bottle of vodka sitting on the counter from the night before. She knew her bedroom and bathroom fit the pattern as well. She'd been sleeping there, passing time there, but she could hardly say she'd been living there. She couldn't say she'd been living at all.

John's assessment took no time at all, his sharp eyes picking out more details than Joss' despite it being his first time there. He turned to her, feeling her warm hand still wrapped in his. "How long have you been here?"

She shrugged, and he recognized the gesture as the admission he'd feared. She'd been every bit as miserable as him. Hell, his efficiency motel had more personal touches. Using their joined hands, he pulled her back into a hug. He squeezed her tight as a wave of guilt washed over him. It was his fault, after all, that she was living like this. She'd stepped in front of Simmons' gun to protect him. If he'd been sharper or faster or more aware of his surroundings, he wouldn't have needed her protection and she wouldn't have had to play dead. She would have been happy and safe at home, in the comfortable house she shared with her son, where every room bore witness to the life she'd shared with people who loved her.

He leaned down, letting his lips graze her ear. "I'll bring your things, you can make it feel more like home."

She pulled back to look up at him, wondering why he'd bother. "John, I might not be living here in the morning." She saw the recognition wash over him, the disappointment, the pain, the guilt.

"Because of me. Again."

"Not necessarily. You still haven't told me if that was you who set off the alarms last night. If no one found me, I don't have to leave." She waited, watching for his expression to change, to give up something. "Or maybe I can go home."

And there it was, the widened eyes, the excitement, the smile in his eyes that he couldn't hide from her. "Home?" But it only lasted a second before the worry crept back in. "But you're safer here."

"How could I be safer than with you?" She knew, even as she said it, there were a million ways he could dispute the point. She had died technically in his presence. But she wasn't just talking about the physical aspect; she was talking about the soul-crushing depression she'd been living through since she'd been without him. "It's not safer, John, you have no idea." She inclined her head, inviting him to look around the place she'd called home for all that time.

"I can't take you back, not if you're in danger. I won't. I can't run the risk-" he stopped himself before he finished, before he put the words out into the universe, just in case fate heard him and decided to take her from him again. The reason he'd been born had been to protect her, he was sure, and he wasn't about to fail at that task again.

He couldn't believe her response. Rather than a determined statement that she could protect herself, rather than a vehement recounting of all the life-threatening situations he'd put her in, rather than reminding him of her history in the Army and NYPD long before he'd appeared in her life, she just smiled. A real smile. Sweet and gentle and, if he was interpreting it correctly, loving.

"Which is why we need to talk, John." He watched her steel herself for whatever she was about to say and he felt his heart speed up in response, in fear that she was about to cut him off at the knees. "I can stay here or the Marshals can move me or I can go home. It's up to me." Her hand squeezed his. "And my decision is up to you. I'm going wherever you're going. I don't want to run the risk of losing you again either."

He'd put himself out there by revealing how he'd wound up at Mike's garage.

And she'd rewarded him by crawling out on that ledge with him.

He leaned down, closing his lips over hers, pouring everything he felt for her into the kiss. His hands wove into her hair as his tongue tangled with hers. Her hands wound around his waist, her nails clawing into his shirt.

She wanted to kiss him forever. She wanted to let things progress, to peel his t-shirt over his head and drag him back to her bedroom, to resolve their rampant attraction for the moment at least. But she suspected that things would get out of hand and they'd spend the day and night in her bed only to wake up to someone pounding on her door in the morning demanding an answer she didn't have.

Ruefully, she pulled back, telling herself that he could read the desire on her face as easily as she could read it on his. "Like I said, John, we need to talk." She couldn't resist running her hands over his chest, simply because she could finally touch him without fear of reproach.

Leading him to the couch, she sat down and waited for him to do the same. When he did, however, he immediately reached over, folding his hand around hers. "I'll call Finch. See what he can find out. That might help answer some questions."

She nodded, a good portion of her brain cells busy contemplating the fact that she was sitting on the couch with John, after having been quite thoroughly kissed by the man, holding his hand, and calmly discussing their future. "And then I want you to tell me everything. Everything. I mean it."

They talked for hours. Hours. He'd certainly never been one for talking, never really had all that much to say, never felt so strongly about anything that he could force himself to discuss it for long. But being with Joss was different. He knew she missed her life, even the parts of it that involved him as frustrating as it might have been at times, and he wanted to fill in all the blanks he could. Of course, he ran into a bit of a problem regarding details of things that he hadn't paid much attention to; he hadn't given two fucks about anything without her there and so he knew he was woefully lacking in information. While he knew she noticed, he was glad she didn't press. And he thought he more than made up for it with his details about Taylor's senior prom and his graduation and the beginning of his college career which John had made sure to watch over, if only because he had to be certain the boy was ok at the time. He sang the praises of Paul for the way the other man had stepped up to attempt to fill the void in Taylor's life. He even told her about Finch and Shaw and Fusco, about his numbers, about the way he chased down every woman he saw in an attempt to find her.

Although she hadn't actively realized it, she'd spent the entire time she'd been away cataloging things to tell someone someday. The stress of her recovery, the nerve-wracking entry into witness protection, even the mind-boggling dullness of her day job, which she belatedly realized she'd failed entirely to show up at that morning. Some of the things she'd saved for Taylor, but a lot of them, she only discovered as she was recounting them, were stories she'd been saving for John. For the grin he'd offer or the raised eyebrow or the chuckle he very rarely let escape. She couldn't remember a time she'd been as content as sitting there next to John with their hands entwined and her head on his shoulder.

It was dark out by the time John moved and even then it was still too soon. But she could hear John's stomach growling and she knew they needed a break, at least until they heard back from Finch about her relative safety.

John led the way to the kitchen. "Any thoughts about dinner since we skipped lunch?" Although Mari's diner wasn't the best food he'd ever eaten, he'd skipped every meal in the past day and so found himself wishing for a greasy, overcooked burger.

"Um," she knew her eating habits hadn't been good, but she found herself mortified at the thought of John finding out how she'd been eating. "I haven't been to the store in a while."

He grinned back over his shoulder. "I'll have you know I'm pretty good in the kitchen. I'm sure I can figure something out."

And right then, because of his boast, she desperately wished she'd at least paid lip service to the idea of grocery shopping. Instead she had to stand there as John opened the fridge and found nothing except an expired, half-empty carton of orange juice. He checked the cabinets next, finding exactly nothing, except for the set of dishware the Marshals had provided, still sealed in the box.

Turning to look at her with a thoroughly concerned expression, John shook his head. "Damn it, Joss, what have you been eating? And don't tell me this," as he motioned at the vodka bottle.

She shrugged. "Last night was a little upsetting." She nodded at the freezer. "I wasn't really concerned about being healthy. My son wasn't here to feed."

John pulled open the freezer, mercifully still full of frozen dinners. "Are these all diet meals?" He started picking out boxes, trying to find something that sounded decent, even if they were all Weight Watchers and Lean Cuisine options. "No wonder you're so damn thin."

Joss hadn't honestly paid any attention to them when she bought them. She'd just grab a stack of boxes until she thought she had enough for a while, paid for them without a backward glance and then stuffed them in the freezer. "We could go out somewhere."

He looked up from his sorting of the meals. "Know of someplace good?"

She tried to think. Certainly in all the time she'd lived there, she must have driven past a restaurant or heard Jennifer mention somewhere she'd gone. But all that came to mind were the shitty frozen dinners she heated up and never ate. "I haven't really been a social butterfly. We could order something in." Of course she had no idea where they might order from, but she had a phone. They could find somewhere to eat.

He finally tore open one of the boxes with a picture of lasagna on the front that actually looked appetizing and tossed it in the microwave. "I'm hungry. We can find something better for tomorrow."

"If I'm still here tomorrow." She didn't know what was taking Finch so long, but the fact that he hadn't called right back with an all clear worried her. Now that she'd had this time with John, she wasn't sure she could give it up, even for her own safety, even if it was just temporary.

He caught her eye, recognizing her distress and resolving it with one sentence. "Wherever we are, we'll find something better."

There were tears in her eyes when she nodded, but she was already in his arms again before they fell.


	9. Chapter 3 Part 3

Part Three

"I'm sorry I'm such a wreck." She pulled back, seeing nothing but acceptance in John's eyes.

"Hasn't been an easy couple of years, Joss." His hands moved from her waist, sliding up to cup her cheeks. "For either of us."

She saw it in his eyes, the reason he was so accepting of her new status as an emotional basket case – because he wanted to hug her as much as she wanted to be hugged. He was still trying to convince himself that she wasn't going to disappear and she suspected the easiest way for him to do that was to keep in physical contact with her.

The loud beep surprised her, making her jump, and his hands retreated to his sides. "Still jumpy, I see."

She grinned, remembering the conversation from the evening before. "Microwave snuck up on me."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you." He pulled the lasagna out of the microwave, grimacing at the meal that looked entirely unlike the picture. "Guess this isn't enough to share."

"It's ok, I'm not-"

"If you finish that sentence, I'm going to force feed you everything in the freezer, one horribly unappetizing bite at a time." He poked at the food on the tray and Joss knew he was contemplating throwing the entire thing in the trash the same way she did every night.

It really never mattered all that much to her without an appetite, but John was hungry and she felt terrible making him eat it. "Let's go to that diner you mentioned." She nodded at the melted plastic cover that had collapsed into the food. "If you eat that, you're not going to want to eat anymore either."

Fear spiked in him at the thought of going outside again, a feeling he never experienced. He didn't like it one bit. "We don't know it's safe." He'd only brought the one gun when he left New York and he had no idea what they could be facing out there. At least in the apartment there were limited points of entry. Of course, if Finch had identified any real threat, he probably would have called right back to warn him, even if the specifics weren't available. Therefore, it was probably safe, but probably wasn't the kind of odds he felt like playing, not with Joss' life.

"You need food, John. Real food. We're going." Tossing the lasagna in the trash, Joss headed for the door.

She expected he'd take her hand the way she had taken his when they left the garage, considering they hadn't been out of contact for more than a minute or two since that morning. Instead he wrapped his arm around her, holding her tight against his side. His muscles tensed for an attack as he guided her to the car. Her first instinct was to joke about him being overprotective, but under the circumstances she couldn't say he was wrong to be worried. She wanted to believe it had been John and Finch that tripped the alarm, but until they got the all clear, there was always the possibility that it had been someone less pleasant looking into her background. The idea that she could have this amazing reunion only to have it all fall apart again frightened her more than she ever could have imagined and she couldn't blame John for wanting to be careful.

He felt her tensing in fear and he hated that he hadn't brought more weapons to protect her. He really hadn't anticipated seeing her again and had only needed a single bullet to take care of his original problem when he left the city, still he blamed himself for not buying some extra hardware during the night. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he started to question the wisdom, and sanity, of the risk he was taking. For food, of all things. He had this precious chance with Joss, being given the opportunity he'd desperately wished for all that time and rather than locking her in a bunker and making sure nothing bad ever happened to her again, he was taking her out for dinner. And though the diner's burgers were better than cold soup and potato chips he lived on the rest of the time, he doubted Joss would be all that impressed with them. Then again, he thought, with what she'd been eating, she might love them as much as he did. He did his best to ignore his fear as he put the car in gear.

The day she'd met Mark Snow, right after she'd been shot, right before he manipulated her into helping try to kill John, the bastard had declared that John was paranoid. At the time it had seemed like a reasonable claim. After she'd gotten to know John, she brushed it off, assumed it had simply been more bullshit Snow had thrown at her to convince her to turn on the man who'd saved her life, the man she'd already begun to trust, the man she'd already started to fall for despite never having actually seen his face. John was always careful, but until right then, she'd never seen even a hint of excessive worry. Hell, she'd always thought the man wasn't worried enough about things going sideways.

But now she was witnessing full blown paranoia. He drove such a circular route that it took nearly half an hour to cover the distance that was probably, in a straight line, less than two miles from her apartment. He drove through the parking lot three times and then circled the block twice more, his eyes darting between the mirrors and windows. He parked as far away from the building as he could to stare at the door for quite a while before he moved the car closer to the entrance. He wouldn't let her get out of the car for another ten minutes, insisting they wait for the teenaged bus boy to finish his cigarette before he announced that it looked clear.

Glancing around the nearly empty lot, Joss shook her head and told herself that challenging John never got her anything besides a headache. "You'd think if this place was so good, there'd be more customers." It was supposed to be a joke, to relax him a bit, to remind him that they were going to dinner, not storming a castle. Instead, she watched his eyes narrow as he took her words the wrong way, his hand tightening around her arm.

"You're right, there should be more people." He was frozen on the spot, seized with the certainty that he'd made a tactical mistake, that he'd endangered Joss. He could feel it taking over – the fear, the worry, the horror, the pain. He'd lost her once and he could very well lose her again. It was probably already done, the wheels of fate set in motion the moment he'd realized she was alive.

He'd been happy. Truly happy. And happiness, he knew, wasn't allowed in his life. He'd doomed her. She was going to die, for real, forever, because he loved her. He could see it all happening again, hear the shots, feel her body take the hit, watch her slump to the ground. He pulled her into his arms, telling himself that this time, he was going with her. Her blood was warm on his fingers, her life seeping out of her so quickly he knew he didn't even have the time to tell her he loved her, no time to voice all the things he wished he'd said in all the time he'd thought she was gone . He was losing her, right in front of his eyes, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. Again.

His embrace was crushing, but she couldn't ask him to let up because he was squeezing her too tightly to get a breath in. She didn't know exactly when he'd crossed the line from reality into whatever nightmare he was lost in nor what had pushed him over. She clawed at him, reaching up under his shirt to pinch his skin between her nails. The pain had the desired effect, somewhat at least, causing him to release his grip on her. She looked up at him, saw him shaking and terrified and then those same damn tears that had haunted her for those long years. She didn't know how to soothe him, to comfort him, to ease the torment she saw in his beautiful eyes. She ached with him.

Her hands slipped up, bringing his face toward hers, her eyes locking on his. "John, I'm right here. It's ok. We're ok." His eyes darted away, lighting on everything and seeing nothing. "Look at me." Once he followed her order, she continued. "We're just getting some food, John. There's no one else here. Nothing's wrong." She was lying, or she may have been, she had no way of knowing, but she had to bring him back in from the ledge somehow.

As she watched, reality slowly dawned on him, his hands moving over her shoulder and upper chest, examining her for a wound that was long healed. The fear receded a tiny bit at a time, his breathing slowing as he calmed down. His eyes were still wet with tears, but rather than devastated, he looked thankful. And tired. He was as exhausted as she was, probably having survived the last two years on nightmares and coffee. He reached for her again, pulling her into a gentle hug.

Blinking back the tears that threatened at the idea of how badly he'd suffered, she kept trying to ground him. "Panic attack or flashback?"

He shrugged as he released her and smoothed her hair back down. "Both, I think." His hands were still shaking, even as she gripped them.

"Finch is taking his damn time, isn't he?"

"I'm sure he'd just being thorough." His eyes left hers again, moving over the lot again, squinting suspiciously at a car that happened to drive past.

She needed to distract him before he got lost in it again, in the memory that had somehow hurt him more than it hurt her. "Come on, John, food."

He let her take his hand and drag him to toward the door, but he kept craning his head around, looking for a threat, certain he was missing it. He was sure there was one, despite Joss' attempt to reassure him, despite his trained eyes and honed instincts failing entirely to find anything out of the ordinary. He followed Joss as she found a booth in the corner by the window; she even left the seat against the wall open for him, giving him a view of the outside, the door, and the entire interior of the diner. He slid into the seat, scanning their surroundings continuously. Rationally, he knew he saw nothing out of place. Mari was at the counter, clearing some plates and offering him a wide smile. The bus boy was on one of the stools across from her, marrying the bottles of ketchup. The cook Tony was in the kitchen as always, humming along to the radio. There were only a handful of other patrons and they didn't seem like they would be much of a challenge for him, even if they were going to try something, provided they ever looked up from their plates or phones. He tried to bite down the irrational conviction that he was misreading the whole situation, that there was immediate, extreme danger, that nothing he did would prevent the impending catastrophe.

She tried to hold his eyes, but although he would return her stare for a few seconds, his panic would inevitably return and cause him to sweep the room again. With a sigh, she told herself at least John's worry, and her worry about his well-being, kept her from being able to freak out herself over the situation.

A woman walked up to the table, her warm smile reflecting in the crinkling of her eyes. "Coffee?" She had already started to reach for the overturned cup in front of John before she spoke.

Joss reached out, blocking the cup with her hand. "He really doesn't need any more caffeine right now." She smiled politely, noticing the way the waitress checked with John for a nod before she withdrew her arm. "I'd love some, though." It would be exactly what she'd been longing for – a cup of coffee with John in a greasy diner. Absolute heaven.

The waitress didn't move, apparently still checking with John, and Joss felt anger boiling in her veins. She'd been invisible for so long that it really upset her to be ignored now that she was trying to interact again. Before she had the chance to say anything, she felt John's hand close over hers.

His smile was slow to form, probably because he was still trying to panic over something, but it was warm. "This is my friend Mari. Kept me from starving to death a few times. She's also Mike's wife." He looked up and returned Mari's smile. "Mari, this is my wife, Taylor." Joss was amazed at how easily the lie slipped off his tongue, no matter how many times she'd seen him bullshit someone. She was even more amazed that he'd introduced her as his wife. When she'd taken his name, it was meant to be a reminder of the men she'd had no choice but to leave behind, not some sort of claim. But hell, if it was ok with John, she wasn't going to argue.

Mari looked back and forth for a minute, finally offering Joss a smile as well. "You're not going to break his heart again, are you?"

Joss stared wide-eyed for a second, wondering exactly what the hell John had confided in this woman. John's cheeks flushed red as he shrugged at her, and she realized John probably hadn't confided a damn thing in the woman. Joss looked up at Mari, who was evidently waiting for an answer before she was going to pour any coffee. "I didn't-"

"Look, I know it's not my place, but I know how he looked when I met him and I know how he looks now and if you're the difference, I'm glad, but don't you dare do that to him again." Mari's glare was so stern Joss had to look away.

John was mortified, apparently so mortified he forgot entirely about being paranoid as he ducked his head and stared at the table top. Seeing John's reaction brought a grin to Joss' face that she couldn't hide when she looked back up at Mari. "Oh, he's not getting rid of me this time."

"Good." Mari nodded, finally pouring coffee into the mug in front of Joss. "What can I get for you guys?"

John found his voice, trying to get the focus off him and his unbroken heart for a minute. "Two hamburgers. No, cheeseburgers." He glanced at Joss, at the way her shirt gaped at the collar, the way the sleeves hung loosely from her shoulders. "Extra cheese. And fries. Make those cheese fries."

"Why don't you just order a heart attack on a plate, Jo-" She managed to stop herself at the same time as John's eyes snapped to hers. "Jimmy, I'll eat the cheeseburger and the fries if you insist, but no cheese fries, please?"

Once again, Mari was waiting for John's answer, only correcting his original order when he nodded at her. "Regular fries then. But extra cheese on the burger, Mari, I mean it. And we're getting dessert."

As soon as the older woman walked away, Joss shook her head. "I can order my own dinner, John."

He grinned at her. "I was worried you'd order a salad."

"I'm not going to gain twenty pounds in one meal." She turned her hand over, pressing their palms together as her fingers curled around his hand.

He looked down, surprised that he'd somehow forgotten he was holding her hand all that time. He chided himself for allowing something so magnificent, so life-altering as touching her to become unremarkable enough that he'd forget about it so easily. Joss gave his hand a quick squeeze before she pulled back to open a creamer and pour it in her coffee. He felt her leg brush his and he instinctively moved his leg to the side to give her more room, but a moment later he felt her leg press up against his again. Deliberately.

Her hands were busy fixing her coffee just right, but apparently she wasn't ready to let the contact between them end either. The idea floored him, his mind going back to the way they'd kissed in her apartment, thinking of exactly where they would have wound up if Joss hadn't wanted to talk. His eyes moved up to hers, wishing that he hadn't gotten so distracted by the idea of dinner. If he'd just eaten whatever the hell frozen dinner he'd made, if he'd made one for her too, they would have been finished by then, alone in her apartment and able to do more than share a heated stare across a table.

Joss blinked first, a smirk curving her lips. "I probably shouldn't mention it, but you seem to be feeling better than when we came in."

"You distracted me." He knew she wasn't trying to chastise him, but he felt like he'd been corrected. He immediately started looking around again, at everything except her, trying to remedy his mistake by being thorough.

Her hand covered his. "John, we can leave as soon as we eat, but we went through all this trouble for dinner, so we're going to sit here and eat it, ok?"

His perusal of the diner paused as he met her eyes and winked at her. "You sure we can't get it to go?"

Her heart sped up at the sexy grin and she wished she hadn't insisted on talking earlier. "Maybe we can skip dessert." She moved her other leg to trap one of his between hers, only to have him do the same. "Or maybe we can have dessert at my place?"

Once again, his attention was entirely focused on his companion, his mind elsewhere, forgetting about his desperate need to protect her, the danger she was in, even the fact that the clock was ticking on her decision about where she was going to live in the morning.

Neither one of them had moved when Mari arrived with their food, complete with the sodas she insisted on serving with burgers, making John reluctantly turn his mind away from much more pleasant thoughts. But when he saw the way Joss dug into her dinner, John was glad they'd gone for food. He'd been worried that he'd have to cajole her into eating and he was beyond pleased that wasn't the case.

The burger smelled absolutely delicious, even with the ridiculous amount of cheese dripping onto her hands. She finished half of it in only a few bites, having forgotten how hungry she really was for something besides frozen dinners. It was only when she came up for air and a sip of soda that she noticed John hadn't eaten a bite of his. He was sitting there staring with a contented smile on his face. Her cheeks burned with a blush.

"What? It's good."

"I tried to tell you."

She nodded at his untouched plate. "Are you planning on eating that or just watching me?" He didn't answer, though his eyebrow quirked up, indicating that he was just fine watching her.

He'd be happy to watch her forever. Her leg shifted against his, the look on her face reminding him there were other things they could be doing, would be doing, as soon as dinner was done. With that goal in mind, John started on his burger. Every time Joss looked away, he moved some of his fries onto her plate. She noticed, but said nothing at first. It was only when John had given her every last one that she spoke up.

"It's going to take me forever to eat all this, you know. We may never get out of here." As delicious as the meal was, she was already full. There was no chance she could eat two servings of fries too.

"Can't have that." Suitably motivated, John grabbed a handful of fries and shoved them in his mouth.

By the time they'd wheedled the pile down to only a few left, both of them were stuffed. Joss was silently hoping John had either forgotten about or relented on dessert, at least the variety Mari served, but she didn't want to mention it, for fear he'd insist on principle if she reminded him.

The diner was comfortable. Being with Joss was comfortable. It lulled him into such a sense of security that he forgot entirely about any danger. A loud crash and shattering glass brought it all back to the surface, the terror and panic and guilt strangling him as he jumped from his seat and threw himself next to Joss. If she was going to get shot again, the bullet was going through him first this time. He pulled her into his side as he pushed them down between the seat and the table, desperate for any protection it would offer. His eyes were wild as he looked around, his gun drawn to fight off the attack.

No one was taking Joss away from him. Ever.


	10. Chapter 3 Part 4

AN: Sorry for the delay, schedule got hectic and because I've been working on this for so long, I needed to make sure it was right before I posted. Thanks for reading and enjoy the final installment!

Part Four

She'd never seen someone move as fast as John when he threw himself on top of her. She barely processed the sounds before John had his gun drawn, ready to shoot their way out. She recovered faster, realizing that the bus boy had dropped an entire tray of dishes, recognizing there was no threat. Her hand grabbed at John's wrist, pulling the gun down before anyone saw it.

"John, relax, it's nothing." He was shaking again, all the work she'd done in distracting him undone in a split second. "Put the gun down, it was just the kid."

He wasn't listening as he kept scanning the diner, looking for something that wasn't there, but Joss was able to pry the gun out of his hand and force her way back up into a sitting position.

"I think it's time to go, before someone calls the police on you."

His eyes eventually found the source of the noise, slowly processing what happened after he saw the kid sweeping up broken pieces of glass. His heart was still racing while he watched Joss put his gun in her purse. He wanted to argue, to demand he have it back, to insist he needed it to protect her, but he knew there was no chance of her returning it, not after what he'd just done.

He nodded in a delayed response to her words. "Yeah, we should get you back home."

Mari approached the table, coffee pot in hand, meeting Joss' eyes. "More coffee for you? Ready for that dessert?"

Joss shook her head and wondered if Mari had somehow missed her customer brandishing a gun or if she was simply that unconcerned. "Just the check, thank you."

Waiting for Mari to return, John remained in the seat beside her and it occurred to her that going back to New York might not be an option. Not if John wasn't able to hold it together in an area as small as this little suburb. New York would be too much for him to handle. She tried to reason with herself, think about her options. Staying here might not be so bad. She'd have John and a way to get in contact with Taylor and her mom. Still, she was disappointed at the idea. She really, really wanted to go home.

He saw an incredible sadness cross her face and knew it was his fault. His hand fell on her leg, squeezing her knee. "I'm sorry, Joss." He wanted to say more, to apologize for everything he'd screwed up in her life, to promise her he'd stop fucking up, but he couldn't make the words come out.

Her head fell onto his shoulder, her arm wrapping around his. "At least it's not just me."

Her words reminded him that the whole situation wasn't about him. She hadn't had any choice in this new life of hers. The decision to go to Pittsburgh had been up to him; he'd bought the ticket, climbed on the bus, and wound up staying there. Joss had been set up with no options or choices or input. He should be taking care of her, not the other way around. He needed to pull himself together.

Mari reappeared, but rather than the bill he expected, she handed him a phone. "Call for you. He didn't ask for you by name, but he-"

He reached out for the phone, sparing Mari the trouble of trying to explain whatever Finch had told her. "It's ok. Thanks." He could feel Joss' stare weighing on him as he answered. "Finch, what did you find?"

"I've been trying to call you for hours, Mr. Reese. I was getting concerned."

John pulled his phone from his pocket, seeing the blank display, remembering that it was a cheap disposable one that he hadn't bothered to plug in since the night before. "Phone died. Sorry about that."

"And Detective Carter wasn't answering either."

John turned to look at her. "Where's your phone?"

She looked in her bag for a minute and came up with a shrug. "I don't really use it." She couldn't even be sure when she'd last had it and frankly, she couldn't care less at the moment. She held her breath while John returned to the call. Their lives, their future, their everything depended on the outcome.

In Joss' experience, John's phone calls tended to be short and to the point. And Finch, though he could be more verbose at times, had never stuck her as the type to entertain long phone calls either. Still, it seemed like forever had come and gone before John hung up. He dropped several twenties and the phone on the table, took her hand, and pulled her from the booth.

"John? What did he say?"

He nodded at Mari on the way out, only turning to Joss when they were outside. "He can't find anything. No evidence of anyone looking for you. No one knows you're alive besides us. He can't even find anyone you might need to testify against."

She stared at him, waiting for the words to sink in, trying to wrap her head around this wonderful news, the second piece she'd received in as many days. It was seeing John's smile, a real smile, the likes of which she'd never seen on him, that made it click. "We can go home?"

He nodded. "You can do whatever you want."

She couldn't believe her luck. The last day was a dream come true. But before she could get too excited, she remembered how frightened John seemed, how tenuous his grip on reality was. New York City would overwhelm him. "Do you want to stay here?"

His hands moved to her cheeks. "You want to go home so I want to go home."

"But if you're-"

His fingers traced her lips. "You're safe. I'll be fine."

And he would be, he knew, provided Joss was safe. He knew it would take some time to adjust, to get used to the idea that not only was Joss alive and well, but that she would stay that way. He felt her shifting closer as she rose up on her toes. Having Joss kiss him – now that was really going to take some getting used to. Not that he was going to mind practicing one bit.

John returned the kiss wholeheartedly, telling her that the all-clear from Finch had already started to cure his bent toward hysteria. Joss pulled back reluctantly. "So maybe we should take this back to my apartment?" She grinned at him, at the heat in his eyes. "Or your place, if it's closer."

He shook his head. "Your place, trust me."

She could only imagine the sort of establishment John had been calling him, not that it really mattered anymore, not if they were going home. Unlike the circuitous route John had taken to the diner, he headed straight for her place. He remained vigilant, as always, checking for tails and looking for anyone suspicious, but the paranoia was definitely waning. Which, Joss told herself, was a good thing. She didn't want him distracted by anything. She'd waited too long for his undivided attention.

No matter how confident she was in their dynamic nor how certain she was that it was time for the next step in their relationship, there were still butterflies in her stomach as she led John to her door. She worried it would be awkward, that their emotional reunion coupled with having waited so long was going to put too much pressure on the situation. She reminded herself that nothing with John had ever been awkward. Even in the early days of their relationship when she hadn't known anything about him besides that he was wanted for awful crimes in half the countries in the world and seemed to show up in the midst of terrible things, something about the man had always calmed her, comforted her, soothed her.

This occasion was no exception. The door had barely closed behind them when he spun her around and pressed her against it. His body was flush with hers, holding his willing prisoner still while his hands cupped her face. He didn't give her a moment before he kissed her, his head slanting to the side to deepen the kiss as soon as she parted her lips. His hands moved quickly, his touch feather light as he tried to touch her everywhere at once.

Just in case this was his only chance, he needed to get his fill of her, although he recognized that such a thing was impossible. If he touched her every moment for the rest of his life, it still wouldn't be enough, it would never make up for the time he'd wasted, for the time they'd been apart. He tried to slow himself down, knowing he seemed desperate and likely overwhelming as he ran his lips down her neck. She'd said she was going with him, regardless of where that was, and so he had no rational reason to fear this would be his only time with her, but his demons whispered that things, especially things that made him happy, tended to go sideways when he least expected. Even so, he tried to keep from rushing.

Until she rocked her hips against his.

"Shit, Joss." His voice was breathless as he pulled her harder against him. "I'm trying to take this slow."

She smiled up at him, her pupils dilated with desire. "No one asked you to."

That was all the permission he needed.

His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her from the ground and turning for the bedroom. She folded her legs around him, using the new height advantage to take control of the kiss. A moment later, she was slammed back into the wall, John's hands pulling her tighter as he pressed his body into hers. She trailed her lips over his cheeks and chin, slowly shifting until she could pull his earlobe between her teeth. He growled in response and ground his hips harder into hers before he captured her mouth in another kiss.

As much as she was thoroughly enjoying the attention, the position was uncomfortable and there was a light switch digging into her back. Prying her mouth away only resulted in his lips moving to her throat, but the trail of wet kisses he left on her skin almost distracted her from the discomfort.

"Weren't we headed for a bed, John?"

One of his hands moved up under her shirt, cupping her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple. She arched her back into his touch, honestly not caring anymore where they were, not now that it was really, finally happening. His hand moved up and, for a second, she wondered what the hell he was doing, but then she felt his fingers carefully tracing the scar on her chest.

Drawn out of the hormone fog, she opened her eyes to see that he had closed his. He was holding her up, their bodies still positioned for something else, but she knew this was a different kind of intimacy, one that she knew he rarely shared. She touched his chin, turning his face toward hers, waiting for his eyes to open.

"I'm ok, John. I'm right here and I'm ok."

He stared at her, trying to remind himself that this was a far happier day than when he'd last put his hand there, on the bleeding wound that had taken her away from him and nearly killed them both. Not to mention that he'd never forgive himself for ruining this opportunity to act on his feelings for Joss by sobbing like a baby.

He pulled his hand away from the scar, letting his fingers slide over her skin to remind them both of what they meant to be doing. He saw the way her eyes closed at his touch, watched the way her head fell back when his fingertips grazed her breast, felt the way her fingers curled into his shirt to pull him closer. He'd thought about this, about touching her, about her touching him, about how perfectly they would fit together physically simply because they fit together perfectly in every other aspect.

But no matter how many nights – and days – he'd spent imagining it, nothing compared to the feeling of actually having her in his arms. This was the woman he'd been born to meet, to love, to protect. He knew there would never be anyone else for him, never another woman in his heart or his bed.

He thought about proposing, just so she'd know how very serious he was. He wasn't sure how a marriage would even be possible, not since they were both technically dead, but he doubted it would pose much of a challenge for Finch. And she had already taken his name, after all. He couldn't keep himself from smiling.

"Do I even want to know what the hell could possibly have distracted you, John?" Here she was, wrapped around his body, openly inviting him to take her to bed and his mind was a million miles away. But it was hard to argue with the enormous, happy smile on his face. As always, she started to mirror it without even knowing why.

"Probably not." He shook his head, his pelvis shifting against hers, letting her know that he was still very much invested in continuing despite his preoccupation. "I love you, you know that, right?"

She let the words wash over her, the words she'd doubted he'd ever say even though she'd long suspected he felt them. Her involuntary grin turned into a real smile. "Yeah, I know." She leaned forward to offer him a quick kiss. "And I love you too, but I'm going to be extremely disappointed with you if you choose right now to discuss our feelings."

He tightened his hold on her and started for the bedroom again. "Fine, we'll talk about it later." As he lowered her onto the bed, he smiled again, unable to reign his thoughts back in from where they'd gone. "And just so I know, when we talk about it later, do you want to pick out your own ring or do you trust me?"

It was a good thing she was already flat on her back; she couldn't remember to breathe, so command of her voluntary muscles would have been beyond her at that point. She knew the look on her face had to be priceless, what with the smug grin and raised eyebrow John offered in response. Conveniently for her brain, which had turned to mush, John didn't appear to be waiting for an answer. He pulled her shirt over her head, letting his fingers caress her sides and making her skin tingle. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about what he'd just said, not even as his mouth started working its way down the column of her throat.

The man was proposing to her before they'd even slept together. Granted, she'd always know they complemented each other, but it was good to hear that he had no question about it either. It reminded her of why she'd done all the things she had for him, why she'd always been drawn to him, why she'd missed him so badly. He really was her other half.

Weaving her fingers into his hair and pulling him to look at her, she smiled. "I trust you, but I don't need a ring. I just need you."

He pointedly looked down at her nearly bare chest and shook his head. "I thought we weren't talking about this now."

She grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it off him, then pulled on his shoulders to force more skin contact. "We're multi-tasking."

When her fingers moved across his back, he groaned and struggled to remember what they were even talking about. But as her fingers slid around to his chest, he couldn't help but imagine them decorated with a ridiculous diamond that would scare off other men and seize other women with jealousy. Even if she would prefer something more subtle, something as delicate as her slender hands, he knew she'd wear whatever he wanted. Just because he asked her to.

Joss noticed the way he was staring at her hand and knew she'd lost his attention again. She started to chuckle as she caught his face in her hands again. "Do you want to go ring shopping now or can I possibly hold your attention for a few minutes?"

He grinned. "You're the one who started it."

She grinned back without even knowing why. "How did I start it?"

"You took my last name. What was I supposed to think?"

"It's not even your real name." Although she could have used his real name, she'd never told him about finding his army file and so he might not have recognized that she'd taken his name on purpose. "And you're supposed to think that I'm using your name already and you're introducing me as your wife, so we're obviously beyond rings here."

Shifting his weight onto his elbows, his palms cupped her cheeks. "I'm still buying you a ring." He leaned down to kiss her, distracting them both for a minute. "And you're wearing it."

She shook her head and smiled harder, realizing that she wouldn't mind at all. "Fine." It was the cost of falling in love with an alpha male, she supposed. He was going to insist on marking his territory in an obvious way so everyone would know she was off the market. And though her first marriage had soured her rather dramatically on the whole concept, this was different. This was John. This was her irrefutable proof that soulmates and fate and true love existed. Suddenly she noticed the curious look on John's face as he loomed above her.

"Do you want to be the pot or the kettle?"

It made sense then, after it had happened to her, that they would both be distracted by their thoughts, despite the situation. They'd had an emotional bomb dropped on them and it had been less than twenty-four hours. Neither had been sure the other was alive, so she understood that their minds were still trying to process everything regardless of the fact that their bodies were surging ahead. Still, she wasn't about to derail their current pursuit in favor of thinking. She'd had two years to think; she wanted to act.

He'd wanted to tease her for doing the very thing she'd been teasing him about, but she recovered faster than he expected. She shifted, allowing his hips to sink between her legs, drawing his attention immediately back to where it should have been all along. He marveled in the sensations, the feel of her against him, the heat of her body, the taste of her skin. He marveled at how well they worked together, even lost in passion, at the way they seemed to read one another's mind, at the connection he felt to her. But the one thing that didn't surprise him was how perfect it felt to be with her completely with no barriers and no misunderstandings and no uncertainty, their bodies no longer two separate beings, but one entity, one unit, two halves finally brought together into one whole. And the reason it wasn't surprising was a simple fact – he'd known, he'd always known, from the first time they'd met, that they were supposed to be together.

Joss had never been a contented person. She'd always been a fighter, striving for more or better or something – education, career, justice, peace, something more. She'd always been a worker, pushing herself beyond her limits. But as she lay there, curled into John's side with her leg draped over his and his arms around her, she realized she was happy. She was alive and safe and would be going home to see her son and she wouldn't be doing it alone.

John's hand paused from where he'd been drawing circles on her back, moving to stroke her cheek instead. "What are you thinking about?"

She smiled up at him. "Nothing. I'm just happy." Her lips pressed a kiss on his chest just because she could. "Very happy."

"Did you change your mind about staying?"

"Not unless you did. Do you want to stay?" This pedestrian life in Pittsburgh had been dull and miserable, and though she'd be happy to have John there with her, she'd be bored. But she knew that the quiet banality appealed to John on some level. He could be completely content staying right where they were. He might even prefer it, if only because he wouldn't have to worry about her safety nearly as much. "Tell me the truth."

"We already talked about this, Joss. I'm fine either way, but your life and your family and your friends are there."

She stared at him long and hard, searching for any hints that he was lying to her, that he secretly wanted her to pick Pittsburgh, that he was keeping back the truth so he wouldn't sway her. But she saw nothing to indicate that he was being anything less than completely honest. He really would be happy either way.

She traced his lips with her index finger, remembering all the lonely nights she'd spent in the very same room terrified that he was out of her life forever, that he was dead, that he'd moved on and never thought of her anymore. She thought about all the lonely days she'd felt like she was trying to breathe underwater. She'd never be able to separate those memories and feelings from the place she'd been when she'd experienced them. This wasn't her home. This wasn't her life.

She shifted up to kiss him soundly on the lips, loving the way his arms wrapped tightly around her to pull her closer, as though gravity wasn't doing a good enough job. When she pulled back, she smiled and watched as his face lit up to reflect hers. "So we're going home then."

"We're going to New York," he corrected while tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "We're already home."

She knew he was right. New York was just a city, a place she lived. John was her home. And apparently, she was his. She nodded in agreement. "Yes, we are."

6


End file.
